


The Guide To Finding Yourself Again

by Dangerous_Advantage



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: (bc im already getting into the halloween mood), (for now) - Freeform, (there will probably be more in the future), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Andrew finds out that he actually likes cats, Angst, Demisexuality, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, I will add tags as we go, Like... Slightly Slow-Burn?, Loss, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mentions of Past Car Accidents, Mentions of past major character death, Okay SPOLIERS ARE DONE, Panic Attacks, References to Past Non-Con/Rape, SPOILERS INCOMING!!!, Thar Be Spoilers in These Here Tags!, The Cats are Here, Vomiting, What Can You Expect This is AFTG, and then not, andrew is sad, andrew makes it more difficult for himself, andrew's pov, just emotions, just so much angst, lots of emotions, lots of scented candles, no im serious the next two tags are MAJOR SPOILERS so skip them unless you really have to, no smut really, past transgender characters, references to other past bigotry, references to past transphobia, the chapters will get progressively more fluffy, there's fluff too, unbetaed because i no longer fear god, very mild mentions of gore, very very mild spooky shit, you'll see - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:53:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25810138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerous_Advantage/pseuds/Dangerous_Advantage
Summary: Andrew's life has always been filled with losses and disappointments, but he had always simply accepted that they were a part of life. Yet, when Andrew loses the one thing keeping him truly tethered, there is nothing he can do but drift. He just never expected that he would found again, much less by a pretty redhead with icy blue eyes and a pair of loud, very annoying cats.Basically, post-college loss AU that literally nobody asked for.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker, Andrew Minyard/Neil Josten, Danielle 'Dan' Wilds/Matt Boyd
Comments: 21
Kudos: 42





	1. Dream-Dipped Haze

**Author's Note:**

> TWs: Brief Suicidal Ideation, Vomiting, Alcoholism, Panic Attack (if I missed anything, please just tell me! Thanks.) 
> 
> Okay, so, I know I should be working on Blinding Lights but tbh I probably won't update that one for a while. That being said, not sure how this is gonna go, but I have this entire fic plotted out (I did it in three hours because the idea grabbed me and I just ran with it) and have been wanting to write it for a little while. 
> 
> This happens a little after canon, with a few changes. First, Neil was taken away from his home before his father was able to make the deal with the Moriyamas, so they don’t really have any claim on him and won’t be very prominent in the story. Second, Neil is in witness protection and his father is dead, killed by his uncle Stuart, even though a few of his father's men still remain alive. Finally, Drake Spear is still in prison and the episode with him never happened. Also, I had to put in some OCs to make the story more diverse and believable, so I hope you don’t mind that too much. Only one plays a really major role in the story.
> 
> This is just going to be complete ANGST at first with fluff slowly being mixed in more and more. It's not beta-ed, but I do try and go over the chapters at least once. I'm pretty excited about this AU, because I really love writing angst/hurt-comfort. I'll add more tags as we go, and there will definitely be spoilers in the tags.

Andrew was not a stranger to loss, nor was he a stranger to disappointment. His entire life had been filled with a never-ending stream of disappointments and losses from the families that used him only to throw him away to the failure of Kevin Day not being able to keep his end of the bargain, leaving Andrew adrift and even more lost than before. But, Andrew thinks, he hadn’t really cared that Exy hadn’t filled the void in his life as he had foolishly hoped it would. Instead, there was something better. _Someone_ better. 

Andrew had never expected that he would find some semblance of happiness in his life. He had made the deal with Kevin only so he wouldn’t feel so numb all the time, never even pretending to consider the notion that it might actually make him happy. In the end, it hadn’t. 

When Michael Debbon had appeared at Fox Tower the summer before Andrews’ Sophomore Year, soaking wet from the rain, his dark brown curls sticking messily to his forehead and his ocean blue eyes wide and excited, Andrew had immediately written him off as nothing more but a bothersome Freshman looking to kneel at the great Kevin Days’ feet and stumble over himself when he had conversations with him (not that conversations with Kevin Day were particularly invigorating. In fact, most of the time, it had taken all of Andrews’ strength not to punch the man in his throat.) Yet, Michael proved to be more interesting than that. 

Like a certain born-again, knife-wielding menace, Michael wasn’t just another boring nobody with a bleeding heart. In fact, after only a few conversations with the younger man, Andrew had felt… something. Michael was quick-witted and bold, yet not annoyingly cocky like most self-assured people were. In fact, he was quite humble, assured of his own abilities, and not pretending he was any better than that. Andrew thought it was, at the very least, entertaining to see someone who could simultaneously infuriate Kevin to the point of throwing his racket down and stalking off the court as well as impress him with his skills and quick reflexes (as much as you could impress Kevin Day, anyway.) He was sharp and wild and closed-off from the word and Andrew found himself gravitating towards him ever-so-slightly, without meaning too. He found himself wanting to know the quirks of Michael’s backstory, how he ended up in Palmetto State, what his favorite foods were, how many pillows he slept with- and that annoyed Andrew more than anything else about Michael. Except, maybe, his looks. 

Michael was, in Nickys’ own words, stunningly attractive. His skin was lightly tanned from growing up as a farmer’s boy in southeast Idaho, as Andrew eventually learned, and his hands were rough and calloused from years of hard work and repetition. His eyes were gorgeous, ocean-colored, and blue that Andrew could get lost in sometimes without meaning too. They would cloud over in seconds when he thought back to his past or got angry or distracted, like the sun being covered by an overcast sky. His hair, rich brown and curly, was the perfect length to run his fingers through and the look on his face that he got when he was focusing on doing something- eyes screwed up in determination, mouth pressed into a pout, tongue slightly edging from his lips- it was one of the things that Andrew hated the most about him. Yes, Andrew had hated him. He had hated him with a passion. Whatever that passion was though, he refused to admit. 

For the first month or so, Andrew made it his personal mission to annoy the ever-loving fuck out of Michael out of every chance he got. Not to mention that he was still on his drugs back then, so the little entertainment he got was from annoying other people (Kevin and Michael especially.) Michael had taken it as a challenge, pushing back just as hard. For a while, the team had been so discordant just because of their “rivalry” that they had been completely _destroyed_ for the first three games of the season. After that last game, Wymack had grabbed a bottle of whiskey, walked over to where the two of them had been heatedly arguing with each other and smashed it on the ground to get their attention before bellowing, " If you two MOTHERFUCKERS don’t get your goddamn heads out of your ASSES, I will _personally_ rip both of your contracts to shreds and then _shove them in my goddamned garbage disposal_ , do you HEAR me!?!?”

Andrew wasn’t sure how Wymack’s empty threat had changed anything between them, but somehow, it had. Michael had basically run back to his dorms after being berated by Wymack and Andrew had followed him. However, Michael’s dorm room was currently occupied by a certain team Captain and her disgustingly sweet lapdog who were choosing to celebrate their defeat, so instead Andrew had done something that surprised even himself. He had invited Michael up to the roof with him to have a cigarette, not even half-expecting that Michael would accept his invitation. Yet, somehow, Michael had followed him up to the roof with weary eyes and they had sat on the edge in cold silence, not speaking as they stared at the ground. 

After a while, Michael had broken the silence. He hadn’t taken one of Andrews’ offered cigarettes, instead choosing to stare at the ground. 

“I think I know why you come up here,” he had told Andrew matter-of-factly. 

Andrew had slanted his head to the right, cocking up one eyebrow in an expression of disdain. “Oh, really?” he had asked, not expecting what Michael would say next. 

Michael had nodded. “Yes. It’s the same reason why you infuriate Kevin and me so much. It’s because you want to feel something, right?” 

Andrew had not been prepared for Michael to guess so seamlessly what the reason was, and for a moment, he was lost for words. He had been immediately defensive, but Michael’s tone wasn’t demanding or questioning, even. It was just… the truth, with a little bit of introspection as he searched himself and his mind for what to say next. Andrew had found it… calming, somehow, like a moment of peace in the raging storm of life that tore at his clothes and body until he had nothing left but his spite and hate for the world. 

Still, Andrew had replied, “I hate you. You know that?”

Michael had only smiled. “Yeah, but I’m still better company than Kevin, right?”

“Doubtful,” Andrew had told him, startling a laugh from Michael’s soft lips which he had been staring at for too long. Andrew immediately hated that laugh, because it was just the right amount of boisterous and soft and playful and amused that it was just so _Michael_ _._

Yet, through the following months, Andrew began to hear that laugh more and more. He had never really planned on becoming close to Michael- at first, he had decided that Michael was interesting enough to keep around for company for a little while and made a small deal with him- a truth for a truth. He never would have guessed that only a few months later, they would be sitting together on a rooftop, trading truths like they were baring their souls to each other, Andrew would lean over, whisper a quick _“yes or no?”_ before leaning in and kissing Michael deeply. He hadn’t waited for a verbal answer because, for the moment, it was written on Michaels' face, his lips, in the depths of those ocean eyes. He found it in his mouth too, soft and warm and so much better than Andrew had ever imagined it would be. 

Not that Andrew would even admit that. 

When they had finally broken apart from each other, Michael had asked, in barely a whisper, “What are we?”

“Nothing,” Andrew had said, and at the time, it was only barely still truthful. Michael had smiled. 

“Okay,” he had said, leaning forward again. “Yes or no, Andrew?”

“Yes.” 

It didn’t take them very long to get closer. Their ‘nothing’ soon grew to ‘something,’ no matter how much Andrew denied it. But Michael had always been good at seeing through Andrews’ lies and he had secretly reveled in it, just slightly. He never said it outright to Andrew, but he heard Michael speaking in hushed tones to Dan one evening, and Andrew had heard. Andrew hadn’t cared. The team had all guessed by that time that something was going on between the two of them, and since Michael never denied it, they had simply moved on. It had been nice, not having to deal with all of their comments, even though Aaron shot him venomous glances every moment he could. 

Eventually, the shit had hit the fan. Andrew and Michael made another deal near the end of the year. While they got closer and closer to winning championships, the tension between Andrew and Aaron grew more and more strained. Finally, the week before their game against the Ravens (that, somehow, the Foxes had miraculously made it to,) Aaron snapped. He had demanded that they make a new deal- if Andrew was allowed to have a boyfriend, why couldn’t Aaron have a girlfriend. He said he was willing to keep the deal the same, of course- as long as Andrew was able to give up Michael. 

If it was just another fling, Andrew supposed that it would have been easy. It would have been easier to deny that it was unimportant to him if it was only a friends-with-benefits situation, but the truth was, Michael made Andrew _feel._ That was an exhilarating, terrifying truth that he kept tucked close to his body, guarding his secret jealousy and carefully. It seemed too hard to go back to life before he had Michael in it, with his witty remarks and soft, secretive smile he reserved for those quiet moments on the rooftop with Andrew or pressed close to him, bodies never really touching, but almost. How could he give up the open-mouthed kisses, the game of truths that they traded to each other in spades, the moments of complete and utter clarity where Andrew had the shocking thought: _“If there is one thing, one good thing I can keep, I want it to be this.”_

So, he had let Aaron have his fun with the cheerleader. He preferred someone like Michael, who kept his deals, over his lying brother. Plus, Michael had many more benefits that Aaron did not.

Once again, not like he’d ever tell the attractive bastard.

With Michael, it had been so easy. Andrew would do the dishes in their then-shared dorm room as Michael babbled on about nothing in particular. Every once in a while, Michael would catch his eye and then look anywhere else, with that stupid dopey grin on his face, and Andrew would neatly tell him to shut up. 

Those years had been the best of his life. He and Michael had stayed, living comfortably in their not-relationship until Andrew graduated. After winning the championships that first year, they kept their rank high. The Ravens hadn’t won again, probably since the demise (apparently suicide but Andrew and Kevin had other ideas) of their esteemed captain Riko, a monster, from Kevins’ accounts. 

In his fifth year, Michael was then suited with the responsibilities of captain for the third year in a row. Andrew went pro, playing for a nearby team and living only six hours away. The two of them would spend every other weekend together, driving three hours each to meet halfway in a shitty little diner that doubled as a hotel. It hadn’t been much, but it had been enough. For the first time in his life, Andrew was content. He knew that, realistically, Michael would leave him someday for someone better. He knew that, and he was ready for it. 

But, Andrew wasn’t ready when Michael left. Not when it happened so suddenly, or when Andrew felt it was partially his own fault. Not when Andrew might have been able to do something. 

Not when it left him feeling this empty inside. 

Andrew was getting tired of the noise. It wasn’t very loud or interruptive, per se, in fact, it was just background noise. The sound of cars honking in the streets, people yelling out to each other, dogs barking loudly, the sound of a radio blaring nearby. Even the sound of shuffling feet from his new neighbor, who had just moved in, was driving him mad. The floor of this apartment complex was relatively empty, seeing as it was pretty expensive to live up this high and in this city, but Andrew had wanted to be somewhere that nobody would ever expect to find him. Somewhere it would be easy for him to hide away, a silent figure of a person, unnoticeable unless you were really looking. 

At this point in his life, Andrew usually would resort to the numbness of non-feeling, but nowadays, he just felt a mix of nothing at all and being inexplicably angry all the time. Maybe it was just pent up anger at the world, or maybe it was all reserved for himself, he didn’t know. But right now he was tired of lying in bed and tired of reading books and tired of existing, yet still wanting to do it anyway, just to defy his past and spite all the people who said he wouldn’t make it past 19. Maybe this was what restlessness felt like.

Andrew’s mind itched for a cigarette, but he ignored the urge. He and Michael had been slowly weaning him off of his dangerous habits, and with the help of his annoyingly attentive lover, he had finally been able to break free of nicotine and start sucking on children's lollipops - DumDums, they were called- to satisfy the urge instead. 

Nowadays, however, he had given up on lollipops entirely and was now just ignoring the thoughts when they came to his mind. They sent the shocks of memories through him, things that he’d rather forget than face head-on. He was getting good at pretending everything was fine.

However, there was another nasty habit he had been making, one that he thought would never be a problem but was now posing to be a big one. Andrew got to his feet, making his way through the luxury apartment to his mostly-empty kitchen, where he threw open a cabinet and popped out a bottle of something alcoholic. Andrew didn’t know what it was really, he had just grabbed something off of the shelves at the local convenience store and bought it. He unscrewed the lid and took a long swig. It burned on the way down and it was the only feeling that Andrew let himself focus on. Droplets of the beverage dripped down his chin and spattered on the floor and his eyes followed them down, only to notice that he didn’t have pants on. Snorting, not because it was funny, he wiped his mouth on his hand and ambled to his room, where he threw on a pair of pants without looking at them and downed the rest of his drink in only a few, large gulps. 

Every day was a challenge. He used to wake up and follow a strict schedule- _Go to the gym and work out, practice Exy drills like the goddamn Junkie, practice with the team, go home,_ and then the rest of the day depended on what games were planned when and what interviews he had to do. However, he hadn’t been on the schedule ever since… well. Ever since it happened. He had quit his position and left, faster than the media could find him. He had gone to the gym for the first few months, but after he had been recognized, he stopped and basically isolated himself in his house, only going out for the occasional shopping trip. 

Most days, Andrew found himself lost in his own thoughts for hours on end, exploring the what-ifs and maybes. This was something he never would’ve done before, yet here he was, moping about. 

If he was being honest, being on his drugs had been better than this. At least he could feel things even if they were only faded echoes of the emotions they were supposed to represent. At least they kept him busy and far away from the dark pit that clutched at his insides. It wasn’t despair. No, it would have been better if it was because then Andrew could say he could feel something other than anger and that mind-numbing emptiness, taking a hold of his body and leaving room for it and only his thoughts. 

Andrew didn’t eat a lot anymore. He didn’t sleep, either, his nights torn up by nightmares he thought he had forgotten about, ones that he wished he could. He was so, so empty and cold. 

_Is this what my life was always meant to be like?_ He wondered idly. _I don’t care what others might say, this is the true hell on earth._

Andrew recognized that he was probably being dramatic but he didn’t have it in him to care. Not anymore. He just wished- no. Wishing was for children, ones too foolish to know better. He didn’t wish for anything. He didn’t want anything. There was nothing left on this cold hunk of rock for him _to_ want anymore. 

Sometimes, Andrew wondered if it would just be easier to end it all. It wouldn’t be hard. He owned knives and hardly anybody ever came up here. If he wanted to do it, it definitely wouldn’t be hard.

Yet, something kept him stuck here, stuck in this hellish existence. Maybe it was the knowledge that Michael would never forgive him if he did something that stupid. Maybe it was just the itch in the back of his brain, whispering, _Not yet. Keep fighting._ But, whatever it was, spite or loathing or maybe even some old survival instincts buried deep inside himself that the world could never quite snuff out, he was still here. One half of his brain thought that was cowardly. The other didn’t have an opinion on it at all. 

Andrew’s phone bleeped from where he had left it on the counter the following day. He stumbled over to it, slightly tipsy but not enough to forget, and checked the message. It was a reminder that cheerfully said, _“Don’t forget to go job hunting!”_

He couldn’t remember setting it, which annoyed him slightly, so he picked up his phone and hurled it behind him with a grunt, where he heard it crack against the hardwood floor of the living room. 

Andrew was currently “in-between jobs” right now, which just meant he was being fucking lazy and would rather spend the last of his money on booze. Bee had called a few months before when he still picked up the phone for any of the foxes to check up on him. It was the last time he’d heard from her. He had blocked all of the other foxes, including Nicky and Aaron, but had left Renee and Bee with his number. Bee used to call to check up more, but ever since the argument on the phone with her, they hadn’t talked, at Andrews’ request. Renee was peskier, as she sent him texts every once in a while that he never bothered to respond to. They were cheery reminders and questions about how he was doing. He had never told her or any of the others where he was going to live, so they were his only ties back to the team. Honestly, there was only one person on that team who he had ever really cared about, in his opinion, and it wasn’t like he could reach _them._

Andrew wasn’t drunk enough for this. He made his way to the cabinet and grabbed two more bottles, turned, turned back around, grabbed a third, and made his way to the couch, strangely exhausted. He used to make fun of Kevin for how much he drank with all the others, but now it would be hypocritical to judge him, so he just downed as much alcohol as he could before he passed out. 

In the middle of the night, a few nights later, Andrew woke up to the sound of a ringing phone. An alarm. Groaning, he got out of bed before suddenly bolting to the bathroom to vomit. It seemed he had overdone it the day before because he usually only got away with a nasty headache. Then again, it was the anniversary of-of- 

Andrew shut his eyes. This was why he was drinking so much, so he could forget. He didn’t know if it was today or tomorrow or if he had missed it completely but memories were swimming to the surface like pesky flies and Andrew couldn’t- he needed-

He went back to his phone, where the alarm was still going strong. He squinted at the screen as it mocked him with the bright words of “ _Michael's Birthday.”_ Andrew felt a shudder rip through his body that might have been a sob, but Andrew didn’t cry. Instead, he pulled the phone close to his ear, navigating to his contacts and pressed on the most used one. He let it ring, hearing the sound of it in both of his ears. He waited for the lady to come on about her stupid message before the sound clicked off, leaving him unable to leave a message. Andrew shuddered again before his mouth began to form words on its own, words that only he would ever hear,

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. You deserved that much. I broke my promise and it’s my fault.” He closed his eyes tight, hating how wrecked his voice sounded, hating how Michael still had this effect on him, hating how broken he was now. Hating Michael but still speaking. 

“You- you should know that-” Andrew swallowed another sob as his body shook, his free hand gripping the bed sheets tightly- “I think about you. I don’t want to. I think about you when I’m sober which is why I try not to be half the time, and- and it _hurts._ You know how I hate dwelling on past regrets but-” His voice broke, and maybe he was crying, just a little bit, but he’d never admit it. 

“Michael, I’m so sorry. I need you back. Why did you leave?”

The apartment was quiet. Everything was quiet. And yet, this moment was still so loud. 

“What happened to forever?”

Those are the words that he says, but the words that he means are choked down. Michael already took so much from him, he didn’t get to know that he also took a piece of his heart. Or, maybe all of it. Andrew had never thought he had a heart before, but he knows that something is missing that was there before. 

Andrew stares at the phone for too long. Its battery, already low, ticks down and Andrew just looks at it, wishing he could feel something. 

_What happened to forever?_

It’s the next day, Andrew thinks. He isn’t sure. He doesn’t want to be sure, refuses to even think about anything today. So, instead, he makes his way to the kitchen, tears open a cabinet only to find-

Goddammit, there’s only one fucking bottle left. 

Andrew stares at it in disgust, as if it is the bottle's fault for there not being more of its kind before leaning forward, picking it up and downing the whole thing in nearly a minute. Andrew then takes a moment to wonder how he hasn’t died yet before the soft buzz creeps over him. It’s barely enough, but it’ll do. Andrew forces himself to get dressed and ready, still not bothering to brush his teeth or check what he is wearing, before pocketing his wallet and opening the door for the first time in what he thinks might be a week. He begins walking down the wall, before remembering that he needs keys to drive his car and starts back toward the room, grumbling. When he is back at his door, he turns the knob only to realize- 

This isn’t his apartment. This is his new neighbor's apartment, the one right next to him, and said neighbor is staring at him with the biggest blue eyes he’s ever seen, now full of a mixture of fear and surprise. Eyes he has seen before. 

_“Michael.”_

Andrew stares up in shock into Michael’s blue eyes and can’t move. Nothing can move. It’s just him, here, and _Michael-_

But Michael's eyes were more ocean blue and these eyes are blue like the arctic. And Michael had lightly tanned olive skin and brown curls and a soft smile and nice complexion and this person has auburn hair and freckled skin and scars on his cheeks. 

He is absolutely gorgeous. Andrew can't take it, his body shudders, then he slams the door into that beautiful face and turns and runs and hides, something he never could’ve done before but feels like he has too now. He messily locks the door and shuts it tight and runs into his room. Hides under his covers and shakes and gasps as he is taken by his panic attack and can do nothing about it.


	2. Should Have Known Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew gets drunk (again) and has an interesting conversation with a certain blue-eyed menace.
> 
> Edited: Aug 15, 2020  
> Edited: Sept 04, 2020

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: Alcoholism, Very Brief Obscure Reference to Past Rape/Non-con, Vomiting (if I need to add anything else, feel free to tell me.) 
> 
> Here this is! we aren't in the meat of the fic yet, but a little bit of Neil should make this slightly less angsty. The last chapter was completely angst, I hope this is a bit lighter. Some foreshadowing too, I think.

Andrew didn’t get out much, but the times he did, there were only two places he went two. One, the grocery store, and two, the local bar. 

Andrew was there so much that the bartenders knew him by name- only, not much else. Andrew wasn’t a talkative drunk. They learned long ago to keep their questions to themselves, quickly assembling his drink, which was whatever they found it easiest to make at the moment. As long as it wasn’t too bitter or tasteless, Andrew could take it. Now, however, he didn’t give a fuck what it tasted like, as long as it had alcohol in it. 

Darren- one of the bartenders with brown hair and brown eyes- must have noticed Andrew’s mood, because he brought over a few shots and said simply, “Tough night, eh?” 

Andrew watched him turn away to tend another regular with dead eyes. It had never been a ‘good’ night for him, just bad nights and worse nights. It wasn’t like they knew that, though. They probably thought dead-eyed and tired was just his normal mood. 

It actually was, now that Andrew thought about it. Scowling, he grabbed one of the shots. If he was still sober enough to think, then he should drink. Andrew had never believed in mottos, but that one seemed to be controlling his life a lot lately. 

Andrew felt his body begin to slip into that soft hazy feeling between the passage of time and reality and into wherever he went when he got drunk. It would only take another drink, he decided, to get him fully there. He contemplated moving away from the barstools so as not to disrupt the steady flow of customers but gave up on the notion as soon as it appealed to him. They could figure out what to do with him when he passed out on the bar.

However, he didn’t get that chance. The stool scraped noisily over the ground next to him as someone sat down and claimed one of his shots of whiskey. Annoyed, Andrew turned his glaring eyes on the intruder, only to jerk back in surprise. 

It was him. The man, the one who almost had Michael's eyes. He had run into him- what, two, three days ago? Andrew couldn’t tell anymore. 

Andrew and the stranger looked at each other warily. He was pretty. Very, very pretty. The barkeeps here were nice-enough looking, but Andrew found he didn’t really think about that stuff anymore. Ever since Michael, it seemed like anything he did would pale in comparison to the nights they spent up on the roof, mouths exploring, tongues sweeping over skin, the quick exchanges of _yes or no,_ the small sighs and cries that Michael made when Andrew kissed him in just the right way. Nothing could ever be the same, because nothing could ever be as good as Michael had been. 

Andrew shuddered, feeling the ghost sensations for only a moment longer before he fully looked at the stranger. His neighbor. 

His face was made up of all sharp angles, cut out with a cruel knife, yet his eyes were so pretty, with long dark eyelashes and strikingly blue eyes. His skin was a sunkissed warm beige color, and his mouth was pressed into a cold frown like he was thinking something over. Besides the freckles spattered over his cheeks and nose, scars lay across his cheeks, like somebody had cut lines with a knife on his left side and the right was decorated with circular scars, too perfect to be made by any persons’ hand. They looked like burns. Somehow, the scars only accentuated his beauty.

After a closer look, Andrew could tell that he couldn't be Michael. Of course, he couldn't. Michael was taller than this man. His eyes were a darker color. He had a squaere jaw, a more powerful frame. Besides, Michael was- he was-

The man stared at Andrew with narrowed eyes, and Andrew only looked back. 

His clothes were too baggy, though, hanging loosely on his frame, so Andrew was unable to see the angles of his body besides his long, bony forearms and almost-gaunt face. He fixed Andrew with an unreadable look, swishing the whiskey around in his it’s glass but never downing it. Andrew scowled. 

“If you’re not going to drink it, give it back,” he snapped, causing the pretty stranger to perk one eyebrow up. Andrew felt relieved he didn’t sound too wrecked. 

Ignoring Andrews’ previous words, the stranger leaned forward and said, “You called me Michael.”

A bolt of something hot and cold at the same time flashed through Andrew’s body. He must not be very good at hiding his reactions anymore, because his neighbor obviously noticed something was amiss. He frowned and Andrew took to scowling at the counter. “I’m too sober for this,” he grunted quietly, before downing his second shot. 

The man looked on, undeterred. After what felt like a few minutes, Andrew finally sighed. His mind was quickly becoming fuzzy. Andrew noticed there were more shots on the counter, some of them empty. Had he drank them, or the stranger. He frowned because he couldn’t remember. The stranger still had a shot glass full of whiskey in his hand, which he didn’t seem to be drinking, so Andrew decided it must have been him. 

“I thought… I thought I recognized you,” he confessed. His voice was ragged, slurring together ever so slightly. The man’s frosty-blue gaze sharped with interest at this new information, although Andrew wasn’t sure why it would. 

“Oh? Are you sure you don’t know me, then? We may have met before.”

For whatever reason, this summoned a choked laugh from Andrews’ throat. “No,” he said, shaking his head, “you aren’t him. I’d know.” 

Now it was Neil’s turn to scowl as if he thought Andrew was intentionally being difficult. “You’re drunk,” he pointed out. “Are you sure you don’t-”

Something akin to rage flashed through Andrew’s body. It took everything in him not to stand up from his chair and push the newcomer to the ground. He only didn’t because he wasn’t sure if his feet were steady enough to carry him. 

“Shut up,” he snapped. “You don’t know anything about me, and I know you’re not fucking Michael. I’d be able to tell.” Smirking a cold smirk, he said, “He was taller than you.” 

“How do you know you weren’t shorter?” asked the newcomer and Andrew snorted, his hand finding another shot glass before downing it. The world was fuzzy around the edges. He knew he wouldn’t remember anything past this point in the morning. 

“Was never much shorter than this,” he slurred, not sure why he was talking right now and not really caring. “Leveled out in fifth grade and- and- never got taller.” At least his speech was still comprehensible. 

The newcomer snorted. “So, what? You make up for it with your fancy car?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice, but otherwise still tense. 

“You’ve seen my car?” Andrew asked, knowing the answer. He wasn’t sure why he was asking. He just wanted to. Talking to his neighbor was, strangely, interesting. He was pretty and had scars on his face and, for some reason, he had wanted to talk to Andrew. 

“It’s the black once, right? The fancy-looking one?” 

“Yeah,” said Andrew. “The Maser-Maserati.” 

“That’s what it is? Aren’t those, like, really expensive then?”

“Yes, obviously,” said Andrew. “That-that was the whole point of me- of me buyin’ it.”

“To blow all your money on a car that will be old news in three years?” asked Neil. “I don’t know, but that seems a bit stupid.”

Andrew snorted. “Whatta you drive?” he asked, taking yet another shot. 

The stranger shrugged. “I don’t.”

“Don’- don’ know how to drive or jus’ don’ have a car?” Andrew asked. 

“Don’t have a car,” said the stranger. “I can drive one just fine, but I’ve never really needed it. It’s not like I go anywhere that needs a car. I just run.” 

That, strangely, startled another laugh from Andrew’s lips, and it was a good one. It almost scared him for a minute as he realized he hadn’t had anything to laugh at in a long time. He hadn’t felt anything like this. 

“So- so you jus’ ran here?” asked Andrew. “How’re you gonna get home? More running?”

His neighbor shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Not like I have any other options. Besides, I like running.”

“You _like running?”_ asked Andrew. “What are you, a maso-maso- masochist?” 

“Maybe,” the stranger allowed, and his eyes drifted far away, tension clouding their arctic surface. “I wouldn’t know. Not anymore.”

Andrew decided to shelve that reaction in his mind for later- if he could remember this particular moment. He pioneered on, and said, “How’re you gonna get home? You’ll probably get mugged on- on the way there.”

He shrugged. “Probably,” he allowed. “I’m pretty fast, though.”

Andrew smirked again. “Rabbit.”

For some odd reason that made this newcomer relax. They looked at each other for a little longer, before the newcomer offered his hand. “Neil,” he said simply. 

Andrew just stared at his outstretched hand for a moment until ‘Neil’ withdrew it, snorting. “You’re really that drunk, huh?”

“No,” Andrew said defensively, “jus’ don’t wanna touch your stupid hand.” 

Neil had worn a smile a moment before, but the comment quickly wiped it off. He brought his hand up to his eyes studying it. Andrew only now noticed the scars and marks crossing Neils’ hand in hindsight.

“Not many people do,” Neil murmured to himself. 

For some reason, Andrew felt the need to explain himself. “Not ‘cause it’s fucked up,” he tried to explain, “be-because it’s- I don’t- I just don’t fuckin’ feel like touching you.” Close enough. 

Neil eyed him in obvious discomfort. “Okay,” he said finally. He looked up at the clock and sighed. “Well, it’s almost twelve, so I should get going. Fun talk, or whatever- hey, what’s your name? I never got it.”

Andrew just looked at him again until Neil snorted and turned away, pulling away from the bar. Andrew processed this a moment too late, and strangely, he felt himself standing and stumbling after Neil. 

“And- An’rew.” he slurred out, a few feet away from Neil. Neil turned quick, mouth pressed into a fierce frown that looked almost like a pout. Andrew found it kind of cute and debated teaching a hand out to touch his face, before finally deciding against it. 

“What?” asked Neil, and it took Andrew to remember what he was over here for.

“My name is Andrew,” he managed to say without slurring too much. Neil looked at him with his pretty blue eyes and his mouth twisted into a soft smirk. Suddenly, as if realizing something, Neil clapped a hand over it, face twisting into a look of anger. Andrew stepped back in drunken confusion, but Neils’ face cleared a moment later.

There was a beat of silence between them before Neil cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, um, I have to be going,” he said, turning. For some reason, Andrew didn't want him to go. Maybe it was the alcohol on his brain, or it was the fact that he felt- he felt-

No. Definitely just the alcohol. 

“Wait,” Andrew slurred, “Did you come here by- by- yourself?”

Neil eyed Andrew warily, crossing his arms around himself. “Why do you want to know?” he said.

Andrew screwed his eyes shut as he tried to sort out the words he wanted to say. He didn’t want to say something he would regret tomorrow, but- 

“You and I- we have apartments,” he tried. “Next to each other. Do- did you- bring a car?” Oh, wait. Didn't he already say he didn't have a car? Andrew wasn't sure anymore. 

Neil looked at him, once again confused. 

“I have a car,” Andrew said. “It’s- it’s nice. Do you want to go.” 

Neil cocked his head to the side. “Go?” he asked. “With you? Where?”

“Home obvi’sly.” Andrew said. “You- I can give you a ride. In my car.”

They had already talked about his car, right? He had a distinct memory of them having a conversation about his car. Or, maybe it was just his imagination. Hot guy, hot car, hot guy _in_ a hot car. It just made sense.

“Are you doing this because you’re afraid I’ll get mugged?” asked Neil, amusement flashing over his expression. Andrew scowled. 

“No- I don’t. I don’t know.” he was able to spit out, crossing his arms and trying to look tough. It must not have worked, because Neil laughed. 

He _laughed._

It was such a nice laugh, too. Soft and pretty, unobtrusive. Kind of like tinkling bells, but sharper. Not cold, exactly, just sharp. Andrew thought he wouldn’t mind hearing it again. 

“Well, it wouldn’t be safe for you to drive yourself home anyway,” said Neil, almost smiling. “You wouldn’t even make it out of the parking lot.” 

Andrew resented that. “I cou. Could.” 

“If I’m going with you, I’m driving,” Neil insisted. “I don’t want to crash and die.”

Andrew’s body seized for a moment, the words hitting him hard. He blinked his eyes once, twice, shook his head. He didn’t know why he didn’t want to hear those words. Or, maybe he did, but he didn’t want to think about it just then. 

“So, you’re coming?" asked Andrew, voice ragged from alcohol and something else that he wouldn’t name. 

“Against my better judgment,” Neil grumbled under his breath. Then, louder, he asked, “Can you even walk?”

Andrew noticed that he was leaning heavily on a chair. He stood up quickly, too quickly, and before he could defend himself he stumbled and fell, only to be saved by a certain redheaded rabbit. 

The nickname seemed to fit. 

Neil helped him up quickly before stepping away, wary of touch. Andrew was silently grateful for that; he didn’t trust Neil enough to let him touch him. He didn’t show it, of course, just glared at the redhead in a silent exchange. But Neil didn’t seem to care, waiting for Andrew to stumble ahead of him and out of the bar. 

When they got to his car, Andrew unlocked the doors and headed for the driver's side. Neil, however, had other ideas, as he crossed in front of Andrew and quickly claimed the seat for himself. Andrew could only glare at him from outside of the car, the purple light from the sign proclaiming, _The Graveyard,_ shining on him. Or, just the light from the letters, “raveyard.” The sign, apparently, had been broken for a long time, with nobody bothering to fix it. Andrew didn't care. They had drinks. That was all that mattered.

Grumpily, Andrew made his way to the passenger side and slid in, pulling his seatbelt on as soon as he sat down a learned habit. He eyed Neil as the redhead pulled on his own seatbelt and held his hand out for the keys. Andrew wanted to protest, but seeing as everything was blurring around him, he shakily dropped the keys into Neils’ offered hand, careful not to touch. It doesn’t take long, after that, for Andrews’ vision to swim and darkness to fill his eyes. 

Andrew is dreaming. He knows this because Michael is here and they’re in his apartment. He knows this because he whispers, _‘yes or no,’_ and leans in and kisses him. He knows this because he only ever thinks about Michael when he dreams, never letting himself dwell on him when he is sober. But something is wrong about this dream, though the danger is hidden. Andrew’s mind is slow, and it takes him a second to realize what it was. When he kissed Michael before, he didn't need to wait for the _‘yes’_ anymore, because he could always taste it on Michael's lips, in his breath. Michael was eager and pliable under his hands, and he would always silently communicate, asking where he could touch, what was safe.

But in this dream, Michael wasn’t doing that. His blue eyes widened and his mouth opened a little, not to deepen the kiss, but more out of… surprise? 

That didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. Andrew shoved Michael back and said something. It may have been, _“Where did you go,”_ or maybe even, _“Why can't I find you?”_ but the dream faded out after that. 

***

When Andrew woke up the next morning, he knew he had overdone it. Not giving himself time to stretch, he stood, running to the bathroom and just making it in time to vomit out last night's mistakes. 

His body shook and quivered as he gasped and retched into the toilet. When he is done, he sits back, not bothering to flush the toilet, and lays against the cold tile of the bathroom floor. The night before comes back to him in bits and pieces. 

The Graveyard (or, rather, Raveyard.) How he had been avoiding the reality of that days’ date by getting as drunk as possible. His neighbor, the redhead, and how he had given him a ride home in Andrews’ very own car.

His neighbor, the one who had made him feel. 

Andrew squinted up at the ceiling, feeling as if he was forgetting something. He probably was. He went over the events he could remember- seeing his neighbor at the bar, them talking too much, Andrew laughing. His neighbor introduced himself and said his name was- was-

Shit. That was what he was forgetting. 

Andrew let out a slow breath and sat up. His head was pounding, an ever-present dull throb in the back of his mind. He is horribly hungover, so he stands up and goes to get himself a few glasses of water. After that, he goes back to the bathroom and sits on the floor, letting himself think for a little bit. About the night before. About his neighbor. 

Andrew hasn’t felt anything besides anger and numbness since a week after that night when he quit his team and immediately went and found a new apartment and started driving. Last night, he had felt something other than that. He could just blame it on the alcohol, but lying to himself is stupid and it only makes things worse in the long run. 

His neighbor had made him feel… amused. Interested. 

That was dangerous. If he had learned anything from Michael and him, it was that he could not ever let himself get close to anyone, not ever again. Because, in the end, they would always leave him even more broken than he was before. He had known this since Cass, had been stupid to think otherwise when he met Michael. 

Even if he couldn’t remember his neighbors’ name, it didn’t matter. The redhead- rabbit, he had thought of him- was dangerous to him. If he made Andrew feel, then there was no way he could be around him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know his name, because he would never use it anyways.

Andrew did not want to be broken anymore. He would not let the redhead break him.

He would not let anybody near him, ever again. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos appreciated (especially comments!) I love hearing what you guys think about this story, and your comments can inspire me to write more, meaning the chapters will (hopefully) get out faster. 
> 
> Also- Since this isn't really a big spoiler or anything and there has been some confusion over it: Michael and Neil are NOT the same person. Neil approached Andrew in the club because he did use the name Michael for a little while on the run, and needed to make sure he hadn't been recognized. I'm sorry I didn't make this clearer, I plan to explain it better in Chapter Seven.
> 
> You can find my Tumblr here if you're interested in that kind of thing: https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/


	3. Better Days Than These

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew has another visit with a certain redheaded menace. He's more interesting then he looks, though, and Andrew thinks that this is a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: Brief References to past Non-Con/Rape, Alcoholism
> 
> Here this is! Still kinda boring (I'm not really happy with this chapter, because it's basically just me trying to further the plot by making the boys tolerate each other) so, sorry about that! I hope it's acceptable anyways.

Over the next day, Andrew’s memory came back to him in bits and pieces. There were still things that the haze of alcohol had taken from him that he couldn’t get back, but for the most part, he remembered most things up until the point where his redheaded neighbor had driven him home-  _ except  _ for the fact that he couldn’t seem to recall his name. 

Whatever. It doesn’t matter to Andrew, it’s not like he’ll need to know his name, seeing as he is planning on steadfastly avoiding the man like his life depends on it. He goes to the store, picks up some low-quality alcohol, and drinks just enough that he has a pleasant buzz when he gets home. It was meant to help him forget his current situation and the redheaded annoyance living next to him, but he finds it  _ harder  _ to stop thinking about his neighbor, who his mind has unhelpfully dubbed as ‘Hot Graveyard Man’ after their meeting the night before. He didn’t want to call him anything, especially anything with the word ‘Hot’ in it, but now that he’s thought of it, it seems to stick. It feels off, somehow, not that Andrew cares enough to figure out what the problem is with it and fix it. 

Maybe it would work better as ‘Hot Garbage Man?’

No, he should  _ not  _ be thinking about the rabbit. That was the whole point of getting drunk! Andrew grumbles a little to himself, his hand automatically straying towards the bottle of alcohol and uncapping it in a practiced movement. He freezes when he realizes what he is doing, seconds before the bottle touches his lips, and a strange feeling comes over him that he doesn’t dare name. 

He sets the bottle down, not bothering to recap it, and turns away from the kitchen counter, instead making his way to the window. There is a fire escape outside of it, and it faces an old gray building, so the view isn’t spectacular, but he would rather stare out at the chipping paint of the building across the way than think, something he has never wanted to do before. Maybe he should just get drunk today. 

He isn’t sure why he is in a strange mood today, and that fact annoys him. He glares out the window, and strangely, he finds himself itching to suck on a lollipop. After a moment, he realizes, and the flood of memories the urge digs up are almost enough to make him flinch. He hates feeling this way, feeling weak like this. Maybe he should take up smoking again, but he thinks that the memories would be even worse if he did, hearing Michael’s voice, never cutting but only sad, when he realized that Andrew had gone back on their deal. 

And he  _ hates _ it, hates that Michael still has this effect on him. Their deal is null now, anyway, and it’s not like Andrew was ever known for his chivalry. But it still feels wrong to go back on it, somehow, like it’s ingrained in his head. 

Andrew huffs. He is  _ not  _ a people pleaser, and he never will be. He must not have realized just how far he fell for Michael until it was too late. Maybe it was because the fall was slow and light, like a feather, and some part of him thought it was okay, that for once in his life, he got to have something good and keep it. That falling was okay because he would always be able to get back up again. That he  _ wouldn’t  _ be stuck in his misery, thinking that maybe-

Andrew suddenly remembered why he didn’t want to fucking think about this. 

The air in his apartment was too warm, too muggy, so he opened the window and turned away, mouth pressing into a scowl. He didn’t bother with the air conditioner, seeing as the shitty thing had broken a few months ago and Andrew refused to call someone to come and fix it. He walked over to the counter,  intent on getting drunk enough to pass out again when a low, searching sound caught his attention. 

Freezing, Andrew turned around slowly, only to see a large grey and white monstrosity with so much fur sticking to it that it looked as if someone had tried gluing clumps of wool and lint onto the creature. Its eyes, milky blue and barely visible between the clumps of fluff all over its face, almost seemed to narrow when it caught his. 

Andrew glared at the creature, momentarily forgetting about his quest to drink himself silly, and watched as it leaped from the windowsill like it owned the place, tail swishing behind it while fur flew off of it, visible in the light streaming from the window. It looked around, seemingly unimpressed, before turning it’s grumpy visage onto Andrew’s and letting out the loudest, most pitiful meow Andrew had ever heard. 

Andrew decided he disliked the thing immediately. He engaged in a silent staring contest with it for a moment, before the thing lazily blinked and walked out of his kitchen, into his living room, tail waving behind it. Andrew glared at where it had gone, before looking down at himself. He was wearing the same black clothes that he had worn yesterday, and maybe even the day before, and he wasn’t too keen on getting white fur all over them, so he decided picking up the monster was out of the picture. He wondered if he could lure it back out the window and onto the street, but decided that it was probably a neighbors’. 

And it was going to get white and grey fur all over his black leather couches. Andrew gritted his teeth. It seemed he would have to make some sacrifices after all. 

Andrew followed after the large creature, only to find it sniffing around his living room, a few feet away from said black couches. He inched forward, not wanting to chase it all over his apartment if it started running away. It didn’t look as if it came from the streets, seeing as its mass wasn’t only made up of miles of fur, and it didn’t seem to care if Andrew came near it or not. It also didn’t care when Andrew finally caught it in his arms and picked it up, not surprised by its weight. 

“Have you ever missed a meal?” Andrew mumbled as the cat went limp in his arms, big blue eyes blinking lazily at him and he stood straight, holding the cat in an almost bridal carry. 

Andrew gave the cat another unimpressed look, which it easily returned. 

For a moment, they just looked at each other before Andrew sighed slowly, and turned towards his door. He really didn’t want to see anybody else today, yet here he was, making his way out of his apartment with the intent to talk to other people. 

Maybe life just really intended for him to suffer as much as possible. He’d seen people, people who were happy and glad, when he was younger; when he still was foolish enough to hope. He had thought that he could be like them, be happy, or at the very least,  _ content,  _ but how could he be? He had never been wanted, not really, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t know why. He was a broken mess of a person who had done things that others could never accept, not really. He was one of those people life had deemed unfit for the blessing of simple kindness. 

He didn’t want to think about this anymore. He didn’t want to think. 

So, he set off on finding the owner of the cat. After going to every door in the upper floor that had a person in it (except for one), he had known he would have to give up on ignoring Hot Garbage Man (HGM was an easier title, he decided.). Hm, maybe he could just leave the cat out in the hallway and go back to living his life. 

Yet, something strange in him pushed him to walk to the dreaded door, and knock twice on it. After only a moment, the door opened to reveal the redheaded menace from before. Their eyes met and HGM’s mouth opened in surprise like he hadn’t thought he would ever see Andrew’s face again. Like he was waiting for something to happen but wasn’t sure quite yet.

“Um?” he said, and it was a question. The smell of fresh coffee filled Andrews’ nose and he scowled, grabbing the cat by its armpits (or, whatever the cat equivalent of armpits was) and shoving it at the blue-eyed menace. 

“This yours?” he grunted in annoyance. HGM blinked once, before nodding. Andrew simply dropped the thing and watched as it lazily padded into HGM’s apartment, like it didn't have a care in the world. 

“Yeah, um. That’s Sir. Sorry, did he get out of the window again?” HGM asked, cringing ever slightly. Andrew just glowered at him so that he could answer his own stupid question. 

HGM sighed. “Sorry, Sir hasn’t been settling well to the new apartment,” he said. 

“Is that why he decided to rub his fat body all over my belongings and get fur everywhere?” Andrew deadpanned, unsure why he was still standing here. Strangely, that startled a laugh out of HGM’s mouth. 

“Yeah, it’s shedding season,” he answered, eyeing Andrews’ shirt. Andrew didn't need to look down to know that it was covered in the creatures’ fur. “He seems to like you, though. He doesn’t usually let people pick him up.”

“Is it because he’s afraid they won’t be able to support his enormous girth?” asked Andrew, a bit tiredly. He had given up on lifting weights a few months ago, and Sir wasn’t  _ that  _ heavy, but his arms still ached a little bit from holding him for so long. 

HGM mumbled something that sounded like, “Not like I haven’t heard  _ that one  _ before,” before sighing and stepping backward. “Do you want to come in?” he asked. 

Andrew was completely caught off guard. “What?” he asked after a moment, unsure if he had heard HGM right. 

“Do you.” HGM started slowly, “Want to. Come in?” 

Andrew didn’t bother dignifying that with a response, simply glaring at him until he sighed again. “Or not,” he mumbled,” going to shut the door. Suddenly, for some reason he couldn’t name, Andrew pushed HGM out of the way and stepped inside of his apartment. It was nice, if not a bit boring, with the only decoration being a mantle with a few cactus-looking plants on it and once that he thought was called ‘Aloe Vera’ but wasn’t sure. 

“Sorry about Sir,” said HGM. “He didn’t throw up somewhere in your apartment, did he? I found him eating one of my plants earlier this morning and I don’t know if it’s any good for him."

Andrew frowned, glad that the creature hadn’t thrown up all over him while he was transporting him. He imagined he would have dropped the cat and given up on it completely if it had. 

“No, I think that cat can keep anything down if it’s size is anything to judge by,” Andrew snarked. 

HGM snorted, but Andrew continued on. 

“Besides, what kind of name is ‘Sir?’” he asked, convincing himself that he  _ definitely  _ wasn’t just stalling so he didn’t have to leave yet.

This time, HGM had the sense to look abashed. 

“Well, er, I wasn’t the one who named him,” HGM said, and Andrew knew it was going to be the worst name he had ever heard, “but um… his name is Sir Fat Cat McCatterson.”

Andrew snorted. “Well, it fits, but it’s still the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” He watched as another cat traced its way towards them, smaller and rounder with big yellow eyes and short black fur. It, at least, still assembled a cat, unlike the other monstrosity, which had somehow made its way onto HGMs' coffee table and was blinking its big blue eyes at them.

“And what’s that ones’ name?” he asked, jutting his chin out towards the newcomer. “Fucking ‘Black Purrl?’”

HGM laughed again, and Andrew ignored the flip his stomach made at the sound. “No, but that’s pretty clever,” he admitted. “Her name is King Fluffikins.” 

“‘Her?’” asked Andrew, raising a single eyebrow. HGM shrugged. 

“The person who named her didn’t know her gender when he named her, and gender rules are stupid anyway,” HGM told him. 

Hm. Interesting. 

They lapse into an awkward silence for a moment, before HGM clears his throat and says, “So, Andrew…” which annoys Andrew for whatever reason. He wonders if he could just ask him for his name again, but his pride makes him stubborn and he is supposed to be trying to avoid HGM, not be standing across from him in his own fucking apartment. 

His next question, once again, catches Andrew off guard. 

“How… how much of last night do you remember?”

Andrew scowled at him. “You took me home, I passed out in my fucking car and I assume you took me to my apartment because I woke up on the couch.” He doesn’t like the idea of not being conscious enough to remember the last part, and his slight anxiety is only enforced when HGM blushes. 

“Oh, you- oh,” HGM said lamely. “Um.”

“What?” snapped Andrew. “What the fuck happened?”

“Look, it’s- nothing. It doesn’t matter.” HGM said, cringing a little bit. Andrews’ eyes immediately narrow, noting the tension on HGM’s frame. He is wearing a shirt that doesn’t pool around him as much as the sweater yesterday, and although it doesn’t show off his frame, Andrew is willing to bet that it’s as gaunt as his cheekbones. Andrew catches himself before his thoughts continue to slip then shakes his head. 

“Reall, I just- you just did something that caught me off of my guard, that’s all,” HGM muttered. “It really doesn’t matter.”

For whatever reason, Andrew decided to leave it alone. If something like what he is thinking  _ did  _ happen, he thinks that HGM would tell him. 

Instead, Andrew says, “It looks like your stupid cat has never missed a meal, yet you look like a homeless orphan child.” 

Something he said seemed to trigger an old reaction in HGM, because he finches back ever-so-slightly, before turning and retreating further into the kitchen.  _ Rabbit,  _ Andrews’ mind supplies, and he follows after him, compartmentalizing the reaction for later. 

HGM is standing over a coffee pot, determinedly not looking at him as he comes in. The coffee, it seems, is almost ready, and there are two mugs out on the counter. Andrew’s eyebrow raised up again. Interesting. 

“Have you decided to poison me?” drawls Andrew. 

HGM turns, pouring coffee into the two cups before saying, “I’m just trying to be a hospitable host.”

Andrew snorts at the mock-offended look on HGMs’ face and takes the second cup of coffee offered to him. He eyes it, noting the lack of sugar in it, before saying, “Are you just going to make me drink this black?”

“Um... yeah?” asks HGM. “Is there another way to drink it?” Andrew snorts, but notes HGM’s reaction, realizing that he is actually asking this question with complete sincerity.

“Have you never put sugar and milk in your coffee?” asks Andrew, a bit disgusted. 

“No, why?” HGM seems unconcerned about this. Andrew looks at him as though he should be put in a mental hospital. 

“You… are horrible. You really are trying to poison me,” Andrew says, and there’s just the tiniest amount of amusement in it. Andrew hopes that HGM doesn’t notice, but from the flicker in his eyes, he is guessing that he did. 

“Do you even have sugar? Or milk?” Andrew demands, a bit haughtily. HGM looks at him as if he isn’t sure whether or not he should laugh, before pointing at the refrigerator. 

“I have milk, but not very much,” he explains. “As for sugar… I don’t know, I don’t really like sweet things, and I don’t bake or anything.” He shrugs. 

Andrew has to stop himself from asking,  _ What the fuck is wrong with you?  _ Instead opting to say, “If you don’t like anything sugary, what do you eat?” That might explain the gauntness in his face and the haggard look in his eye. 

HGM chews at his lip and Andrew can’t help but think that he is unfairly attractive. Then, he catches himself thinking those thoughts and scowls in annoyance at himself.  _ Control yourself,  _ he silently berates himself. 

“I like fruit,” HGM mumbles. “And- um, I have Ramen. And coffee. And tea.” 

Andrew just looked at him. “Is that all?” he finally asked, unsure if HGM was shitting him or not. HGM shrugged defensively, pulling his arms up across his chest. 

He wasn’t. Andrew wasn’t sure why that made him want to laugh. He resisted, instead saying, “You’re pathetic.” 

“Well sorry I don’t want to go into a diabetic coma,” said HGM, a little bit brattily. Andrew is about to snap something back at him when the sound of a phone ringing cuts him off.

They stare at each other for a moment. Andrew is pretty sure that he left his phone in his apartment, and he has never heard this certain ringtone- a song he is unfamiliar with. HGM looks at him again for a moment, before reaching down into his pocket and grabbing something that looks so old he isn’t sure how it even still works. HGM seems to notice his look, because he glowers at him, before flipping the phone open and saying, “Hello?”

There is a moment of silence as whoever is on the other side of the phone speaks, and HGM’s visage morphs into one of annoyance. 

“Yes. Thank you. I am aware.” HGM states, sighing again as the other person begins to speak. “Yes, the cats are alright. Sir keeps eating those plants you gave me because I’ve been putting him on a diet.” Silence. “Yes, well, it's your fault he’s as fat as he is.” 

Silence. HGM snorts. More silence. Andrew looks at him, mouth pressed into a frown as he notes HGM’s reactions. He thinks that he should’ve taken another drink because that comfortable buzz is almost gone. 

“Haha, very funny,” Neil deadpans, but his mouth is fighting off a smile. After a moment longer, the smile grows into a smirk and Neil says, “Oh, really? Tell me, then, about Adriane. Is she doing well?” He snorts at the response he gets and then waits for a moment.

Everything is still. Then his smile begins to slip. “What?” he asks, voice suddenly quiet. The smirk is gone, replaced by a look of cold fear. “Why didn’t you call earlier?”

Silence. Then, HGM explodes with his response. “What do you mean!? He was- he was  _ here?  _ In the city? Stuart, the only reason I was allowed to keep your number was because-” HGM’s eyes flick up to where Andrew is observing the scene and his mouth twists into a grimace. “Listen, I just- I’ll call you back in a minute-” he signals for Andrew to leave, but Andrew only looks at him, curiosity piqued. 

He glares at Andrew with a passion before making his way forward to open the door, ushering Andrew out, one hand still pressing the phone up to his ear. “Yes, look- I have to call Jason and talk to him about this so I’ll call you back later- yes-  _ goodbye,  _ Uncle-” and with that, he snapped the phone shut. 

Composing himself, Neil let out a breath and stepped forward. “Sorry, something came up,” he said, with a half-scowl on his face. Then, he shook his head, his earlier reaction disappearing as his face morphed into a look of weariness. “Um, really sorry about my cat, too, he’s stupid sometimes, just-” he made a weird gesture with his hands before practically pushing Andrew out of the door. “Goodbye.” 

With that, he slammed the door in Andrews’ face.

Andrew scowled at the door, cat hair on his shirt and mug still clutched in his hand. That went just about how he expected it to- which is to say, horribly. 

Even though it maybe wasn’t that bad. 

Andrew is laying in bed, the night after his unwelcome visitor, just thinking. He didn’t end up getting very drunk today. The itch was there, but it was almost hidden by something else, something else that he didn’t want to name. In his mind, he mulled over the day's events. Mostly, what had happened in the apartment. 

The argument over the phone. How quickly HGM’s eyes had filled with fear. Who this Uncle Stuart was, and who Jason was.

Why he was still puzzling over it, hours later, instead of passed out drunk.

Andrew groaned, and turned over, glaring at the wall. He had specifically told himself to avoid HGM, and yet, he had still ended up in his apartment, holding his fucking cat. With his mug now on Andrews’ kitchen counter.

Was still thinking about it.

Andrew blamed HGM for that. He was too enigmatic and interesting, a puzzle to solve. That was why thoughts of the pesky redhead and his pretty blue eyes kept sticking in his head, not because he made Andrew want to feel. 

Want. 

Andrew groaned and threw his hands over his head. He had the feeling that this was going to be problematic. Because, in the back of his head, he could still hear him calling his name, in that soft, surprised tone of voice.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, here this is! I won't be updating for the next week because I'm going on a trip to visit some family and so I hope you don't mind waiting. I hope this isn't too boring for you~
> 
> Also, thank you for the comments and kudos! They really mean a lot. Even just a few words written to me can get me really hyped up and excited to write. I basically live off of your praise. 
> 
> If there are any spelling mistakes, please don't hesitate to tell me. I don't have a beta, even though I do try to proofread, and I always annoy myself when I leave mistakes.


	4. Made You Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrew does something heroic and gets yelled at because of it. Maybe everything isn't actually that bad, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: Alcoholism (obviously), Fire, Literal Door Massacring
> 
> Me, drinking the clown juice: I'm going on vacation, so I won't be able to update until I get back!
> 
> My Mind: Yes okay but... what about... double update?
> 
> Me, who has nothing new written: NO!! I won't be able to finish it and I need to get my sleep! I'm leaving early tomorrow!!
> 
> My Brain:
> 
> Me:
> 
> Mt Brain:
> 
> Me:
> 
> Me: ...I'm going to do it, aren't I?
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Okay, so double update!! I was not planning on doing this but I was really excited about this chapter and thought, "Why not? Might as well give them something to mull over." So here's this! I wrote it in about three hours and edited it in, like, five minutes, so I can't tell you if this is going to be good or bad just go with it. Honestly, this chapter does not fit the mood of the fic AT ALL and there are so many cliches but I love it so freaking much. Like, honestly, it may look like I was on crack when I wrote this but I had the idea all along and it was so ridiculous that I just had to put it in. I hope you like it! I sure do. 
> 
> You also meet two other side characters that aren't really important t for the story but I want to put in mentions of them in later chapters because the only foxes that are gonna be in this are reserved for the end.
> 
> Also, sorry if the characters are way OOC. It just makes me happy to write them like this.
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Edited: Aug 31, 2020

Andrew had gone out that day, not to go to the store or to go to the bar, but to return to the gym, something he didn’t think he would ever do again. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him, but that morning, he had given up on drinking himself into a drunken stupor like the two days before, instead opting to not drink until later, and head to the gym. His entire time there was miserable, seeing as he had put on weight and lost most of his muscle mass, but it also left him feeling satisfied, seeing as he steadily tried to lift heavier and heavier sets of weights. Knowing that, eventually, he might be back to his prior fitness. 

He had barely thought about alcohol at all, even though the urge was still there. When he got home, he couldn’t help taking a few sips… or gulps… of the bottle. He grimaced when he realized he had drunk almost the entire new bottle, but with alcohol tolerance as high as his, he was just above a buzz, barely feeling tipsy enough for his liking. 

Still, when he realized he had forgotten something from his car- a small bag of lollipops that he had gotten the day before yesterday but hadn’t quite managed to take out of the trunk yet- he felt determined to go and get them. They were just lollipops, there was no reason to be so apprehensive about this.

However, his lollipop crisis would have to wait. As he padded out of the apartment, scowling slightly, he noticed the smell of smoke- sweet smoke- wafting from under a familiar door…

Andrew had definitely _not_ been thinking about HGM. He had completely and obviously brought him his mug back and _hadn’t_ hoarded it in his cupboard and used it to drink coffee out of the following two mornings, the immature thing to do. And he most definitely had _not_ hoped that his redheaded neighbor would come to collect it. 

The mug wasn’t anything special. It was just white with bold black words on the front that said, “Don’t Talk To Me Until I’ve Drank My Bean Juice,” which Andrew thought was even stupider than the names of HGMs’ cats. There was also a handlebar mustache on it, probably a reference to something that he didn’t understand, and the whole mug left him utterly confused. 

It was a stupid mug belonging to his stupid neighbor who had smoke coming from under his stupid door and also his stupid cats were screaming. 

Andrew had never been the heroic type, but seeing as he didn’t want the whole building to burn down, he went over to the door and knocked harshly. Maybe HGM was asleep and just needed to be woken up. But when the smell of smoke got stronger and the cats’ yowls louder, he knew that his neighbor was not there. 

He had a feeling this afternoon was not going to be good. 

Andrew tried the door handle, only to find that it was locked. Scowling, he tried it a few more times, thought over how fast he could pick a lock, and decided it wasn’t fast enough. Stepping back, he surveyed the door in all it’s glory. The doors were very weak, not well-made things, and he could probably break in easily if he tried. Or, he could go into his apartment, go out of his window, jump the fire escape, and see if his neighbor had left his window unlocked. Though he could just break it if it weren’t, he supposed- 

The pitiful yowling got louder and the smoke got thicker. Andrew had to make a choice. 

So, with whatever pitiful strength he had left in his body, Andrew backed up and rammed into the door. Hard. 

It should not have given way as easily as it did, splintering and breaking as though it were actually made of styrofoam. For a moment, Andrew stood, stunned, chips of wood sticking into his clothes, splinters in his hands. Then, he took in the scene. 

The two cats were yowling and screaming like Satan himself was in their living room. That may have been attributed to the fact that Sir was _on fire_ and his anxious screams were making King scream, too. On the mantle, Andrew saw what had caused the mess. A candle, titled “Sweet Honeysuckle Meadow,” had fallen over, and lit the box of tissues on the mantle on fire, which had also somehow lit the couch on fire. Maybe it had lit Sir on fire and then he had jumped on the couch? Andrew didn’t really have time to think.

Leaping forward, he crashed over a table and grabbed Sir, shoving the cat against himself and effectively killing the flames. The cat let out a screech like Andrew had just stabbed him with a butter knife and bolted away, strangely fast for a cat of his size. Andrew watched him run until his face slammed into a wall, before he turned, still screeching, and ran towards what Andrew imagined was the direction of HGM's bedroom. 

With the cat put out, Andrew focused his next attack on the couch. Grabbing a pillow off of the opposite sofa, he slammed the fluffy thing onto the flames, keeping it there for a second until he was sure that they were effectively destroyed. Then, he went to work putting out the tissue box (he did this by throwing it on the floor and stomping on it before the flames could spread, and then carefully righted the candle. Its label had burned partially, leaving only the words ‘Honeysuck me’ visible. He ran into the kitchenette, turning on the sink, grabbed an oven mitt from the table and made his way back to the hot glass, which he quickly grabbed and took to deposit into the cold water of the sink, where it cracked and shattered slightly from the quick temperature change. 

Andrew stood, staring at the candle for a moment longer, oven mitt on one hand, the other slightly shaking. From his slight reflection in the water, he could see there was soot on his face. Andrew just stared at his almost stunned looking reflection and had the urge to laugh. So he did, a wild, maniacal sound.

He probably would have stood there, just laughing, for the rest of forever, if HGM didn’t conveniently choose that time to show up. 

“What in the ever-loving fuck.” 

Andrew looked up from his position by the kitchenette sink to see HGM, standing in the broken-down door, wearing jogging clothes, with a few bags of groceries in his hands. His eyes were wide with a confused, almost terrified look on his face, and a few of their neighbors, alerted by the noise, were standing in the doorway behind him, including Ms. Agatha Jones, who’s favorite hobbies were to make pies, gossip and give people long, uncomfortable stares. She was holding a pie in her hand at the moment, uncooked, and Andrew thought that maybe she was doing all three of those things at the same time. It unnerved him. 

However, HGM was even more unnerved. He just looked at Andrew with that look on his face, and Andrew almost found it funny. He actually did find it funny, when a large piece of plywood that had been holding on for dear life, fell onto his head and bounced off. HGM didn’t even give it a second glance, so focused on staring at Andrew with everything that he had. 

For a long moment, it was completely quiet. Then, Andrew shrugged and said, “One of your cats got lit on fire so I had to break down your door to save it.”

It was a short version, with absolutely none of the details, and it only served to terrify HGM even more. 

“What?” he gasped. “My cat- which one? One of my cats got lit on fire?” It seemed he was in shock. 

Andrew shrugged. “Yeah, the fat one,” he said, even though he remembered their names easily. “It’s okay, I think. Your stupid candle fell over and it lit the tissue box on fire, which then somehow lit your cat on fire which then lit the house on fire.”

HGM nodded slowly, digesting this information. “O...kay,” he said finally, still nodding. “Where is, um, the cat?”

“I think it headed towards the direction of your bedroom,” Andrew said helpfully. The fact that he was delivering all of this in a perfectly monotone voice perhaps didn’t help the situation. HGM, however, only kept nodding slowly as he made his way into the bedroom. His other cat, King, was sitting on the counter now, giving Andrew a measuring look. Andrew just looked at it back. It blinked slowly and he did the same. 

Only then did he turn his full attention to the other neighbors. It seemed a few more had joined them, and now they were all whispering together in a big clump, shooting glances at him. 

Andrew eyed them right back before saying, “For the amount of money I paid for this place, the doors are pretty low quality.” 

This, for whatever reason, seemed to send them on their way, looking at each other as they parted ways and went to their own apartments, no doubt ready to get onto their online media platforms and tell all their online friends about the crazy man who broke down a door to put out a fire that they weren’t sure he didn’t cause. Andrew smirked, just thinking about this and met Kings’ considering gaze with another one of his own.

At this time, HGM appeared from his bedroom, holding a slightly bedraggled, grumpy-looking Sir who was glaring crossly at the ceiling, yet reveling in the belly rubs that HGM was giving him. He stretched out, fat stomach on display, and then gave Andrew a look as if he was the one at fault. 

HGM took this time to begin speaking. “So,” he said. “I… wasn’t expecting this today. Or ever. Are you sure that’s really what happened?” His eyes, for a moment, were cautiously eyeing Andrew, as if he thought this was all some elaborate set-up so that Andrew wouldn't get in trouble for breaking his door down. Or something. 

For proof, Andrew fished the candle out of the water, holding it up for Neil to see. “I think it was originally called, “Sweet Honeysuckle Meadow, but now it’s just called,” he paused for dramatic effect before continuing, “'Honey, Suck Me.'” 

HGM snorted wildly, and the tension in the room seemed to dissolve. “Yeah, that makes sense. I knew I shouldn’t have lit that stupid thing, not with Sir trying to eat all the fucking plants.” 

“I didn’t know you enjoyed Yankee candles,” Andrew told him, and HGM snorted again. 

“I only lit it because Sir shat on the carpet this morning and I didn’t have any air freshener, so I wanted to see if I could cover up the stench it left behind.” 

“It seems to me that the cause of most of your problems is the monstrosity you are currently holding in your arms at the moment,” Andrew said, almost flippantly. “Why do you still own that thing again?”

“Well, I can’t just abandon him!” The pouty face that HGM makes as that very moment is definitely _not_ adorable whatsoever. “Besides,” he continued, adopting a baby-like tone, “how could I ever give up someone so precious? In;t that right, my pwecious wittle baby?”

Andrew mimed gagging and HGM shot him a dirty look. Then, he surveyed the room again and sighed. “Well, looks like I’m going to have to pay for a new door,” he said mournfully, before looking at Andrew with an accusatory glare. Andrew just glared back at him, with a look that said ‘ _excuse you?’_ written on his face.

“I just saved your fucking “pwecious wittwe baby,” Andrew snapped, “I think the door thing can be overlooked.”

“You just rammed through my door liking a fucking animal!” said HGM. “Surely there was a better way?”

“I could’ve broken through your window, but that might’ve taken longer and your stupid cat might have actually gotten hurt,” snapped Andrew. “Stop fucking complaining.”

“Fine,” Neil sighed, still petting Sir, “I’m willing to overlook it if you take Sir, King, and I to the vet in your fancy fucking car.”

“No way!” protested Andrew. “There is no way I am getting your cats’ singed fur all over my fucking car. I refuse. I-”

And that is how Andrew found himself sitting in his car, fifteen minutes later, grumpily driving a smug-looking HGM and his meowing cats to the vet. Every time one of the cats would let out a particularly loud yowl, Andrew would have to bite his tongue to stop himself from screaming back at them and then yelling, _“How do you like that, huh? 'Cause that’s what you fucking sound like!”_

HGM seemed to notice Andrews’ growing tension and apologized quickly, saying, “Sorry, they hate traveling in cars.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Andrew gritted out.

“Oh, look! Here we are,” HGM loudly announced. Andrew turned into a small parking lot of the vets’ office, parking without caring that his car practically took up two spots, and purposely bumping into the curb. The cats yowled louder at that.

They quickly unloaded, Andrew unlocking the doors so that HGM could get his cat carriers, before relocating them and following HGM inside. They made their way into the little building, where Andrew sat down with the cat carriers and waited for HGM to check-in. They’d have to call his name, and then Andrew would know. 

However, the universe really hated him today, because the secretary looked up at HGM and a smile slid across her face. “Mr. Josten!” she cried. “How are you? And the cats? Sir and King are doing well, I hope?”

A last name. He could work with that, but still. Andrew scowled at the car carriers, and King only meowed back. 

“They’re fine, as far as I can tell. There was an accident, though, so I want to make sure they’re okay.”

“Oh, my goodness!” the woman cried. “I do hope they’re okay.” She fluttered her eyelashes up at him in an attempt at flirting, which, for some reason, made Andrew annoyed.

Only, HGM simply smiled back at her, not taking the bait. “They’re alright, we think,” he said. “Like I said, just making sure.”

This was the first time the woman seemed to notice him. She eyed him like he was a piece of gum she had found under her desk and didn’t want to touch without a pair of gloves on. Andrew just stared back blankly. 

“Well, I’m sure doctor Blake will see you in a minute.” she purred, turning back to her futile attempts at wooing him. “Not very many customers these days.” 

“That’s too bad,” HGM Josten half-agreed as he turned back to sit next to Andrew. For some reason, it felt like a victory. Andrew raised his eyebrows at the woman and she glared at him for a moment, before turning to glower at her computer and type something down on it, muttering something Andrew couldn’t hear. 

Andrew almost cracked a smile at that.

In only a few minutes, a vet with dark skin and a big smile stepped out of the door with a sign on it, titled 'Only enter if accompanied by one of the staff.’ “Mr. Josten!” he called out, smiling big. “Glad to see you. The little gremlins doing all right?”

HGM smiled at him, and it seemed like a genuine thing. 

“Yeah, we think so. Just had a bit of an accident and want to make sure they’re all okay.”

Dr. Blake nodded wisely. “That seems smart,” he said, eyeing Andrew. “You have a friend?”

“Oh, yeah,” said HGM, almost as if he had forgotten of Andrew. “This is, um. Andrew.”

“Andrew Minyard,” Andrew drawled in his monotonous way, and Dr. Blake smiled. 

“Well, Andrew Minyard. You can come back with us if only Mr. Josten thinks it's all right?”

HGM Josten nodded. “Of course,” he said. 

The two of them stood, following after Dr. Blake. Andrew took Kings’ carrier from a grateful Josten and before long, they ended up in a small room with a metal examining table. Andrew and HGM deposited their carriers on the table and waited for a moment as Dr. Blake took King out, and then Sir. They seemed familiar with him, because they brushed up against him, purring. 

Dr. Blake noted the singed fur on Sirs’ back and asked, “Oh, what happened?” to which Neil responded in as little detail as possible. Blake still laughed at the tale, and then, after a few more minutes of examining the cats, pronounced them fine.

“You’re lucky your friend got to them in time, though,” the man said wisely, as they were preparing to leave. “Any moment later and Sir might’ve been damaged pretty badly.”

“I’m glad he was there,” HGM said, nodding. 

“Funny, you didn’t express that same sentiment when you were yelling at me about breaking your door down,” Andrew said boredly. Dr. Blake paused at that, before laughing again. 

“You’ll have to tell me the whole story sometime,” he said laughing. “The wife and I usually have date nights on Fridays, but she has a girls’ night on Friday with my daughters this coming week, so my schedules’ free. You could come over, have a few beers, and tell me the story.” Blakes’ eyes twinkled with playful fun and Andrew found he didn’t mind him so much. 

With that, the two of them made their way back out to the car, strapped the cats’ carriers in as well as they could, and hopped in. Andrew made sure Josten put his seatbelt on before starting the car and backing out of the parking lot, before driving carefully away. 

It was quiet for a little while as they drove, and Andrew found it wasn’t so awkward anymore. Actually, it was pretty nice, at least, in his opinion. He hadn’t shared silence with a stranger for a very long time. He remembered he and Renee would do it after their matches and the thought made him ache, in a surprising way. He thought that, just maybe, he missed those matches with the menace. She had given him her knives and he had taken them, promised to use them to protect himself.

But he hadn’t been able to protect his heart. Michael had come and had hurt him. It still hurt, thinking about him. And yet…

Neil cursed very suddenly, making Andrews’ hands grip the steering wheel tightly as he fought not to swerve. His driving was careful, unlike how it had been in his college days. It had to be, now. 

After another beat of silence, HGM offered up what the problem was. “I’ll have to tell my uncle what happened,” he groaned. “God, I’m never going to hear the end of it.”

Andrew smirked as he continued driving, successfully resisting the urge to say, _“Sucks for you.”_ He didn’t really know what to make of it, but for the first time since _it_ had happened, Andrew felt… settled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. What did you think of this?
> 
> I was originally going to name the candle, "Sweet Honeysuckle Dreams," but I really wanted the burnt candle to say, "Honey, suck me," so here we are. 
> 
> Also yes I am aware of all of the fucking cliches but. Come on. Let a person live. 
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Your comments mean so much to me!! Tell me what you think of the fic. Tell me your ideas for later chapters. Even just put a line down from the story that you really liked and tell me why! I live off of your praise and you being excited about the fic makes me excited to keep writing it (or, at least, that's the plan.) I run off of your lovely comments and they can cause huge random writing spells in me, so be free! Write something! (:
> 
> Also, my tumblr if any of you are interested in that: https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/


	5. Shameless, Shameless Daydreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a power outage. HGM and Andrew share some secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: References to past bigotry/transphobia, mentions of the past outing
> 
> This took way too long and I'm not exactly happy with the ending but it's just fluff and isn't super important to the storyline (besides more info on Michael) so sorry. It's just supposed to be fluffy and slow.

It was nighttime and it was storming. Badly.

Rain lashed the windows of his apartment, leaving them hazy and perpetually wet, the outside world reduced to a murky obscurity of darkness, lit up by the occasional flash of lightning. It usually wouldn't be much of a problem, seeing as, at this time of night, Andrew was usually drunk enough that he couldn’t even remember his own name. Yet, at the moment, he was sitting in a comfy reading chair that he hadn’t used since he had first rented the apartment, with his small, wire-framed reading glasses sitting on the edge of his nose as he read _T_ _he Handmaid’s Tale,_ a book he hadn’t read in a while but had been his favorite ever since Bee had recommended it to him. 

Its cover was worn, favorite pages dogeared from previous owners. Andrew could remember every scene of the book, but he read it through again anyway, trying to find new details, new meaning, that he might not have noticed before. His deft fingers traced the margins as he intently studied the words, letting himself be taken in by the book. A lollipop stick, it’s candy long gone, rested in his mouth, where he would chew it every so often. It was… nice, he decided. He thought that, maybe, he had missed this, the feeling of freeness that getting lost in a good book gave him. 

It had almost been a week since he had saved his neighbor's apartment (and cats) from getting burned to a crisp, and although he had told himself not to think about him, it was hard. HGM was interesting, surprisingly. He gave Andrew the sense that he knew more than he let on, even though he could be annoyingly dense at times, especially when it came to his love life. They had only seen each other a few times, but every time, it had left him feeling… energized, or as energized as Andrew could be, anyway. It was mostly just saying hi to each other in the hallways, but he had seen some of his other neighbors trying to talk to him. Mostly the bachelorettes that were seemingly in an endless state of partying. 

At first, when they had tried to talk to him and HGM had brushed them off, Andrew had thought he was just being polite. But soon he came to realize that he really had no idea that they were hitting on him. Every invitation to party with them or come take a tour of their apartment (“Why? All the apartments have the same layouts, right?”) was turned down. Eventually, it became a source of great amusement for Andrew, seeing them struggle to get in his pants while he simply blocked every ill-fated attempt. 

But, that wasn’t the only thing. Ever since that day with the stupid candle, Andrew had been drinking less. It started off as an unconscious decision and soon grew with his realization. He found that doing things was easier without being so uselessly drunk all the time, caught up in an unending circle of drinking to forget, not forgetting enough and building up more tolerance, then drinking more. No, he found that he liked finding things he used to enjoy, things that he still did enjoy. He was working out again, reading his books, eating ice cream. It was a wonderfully freeing feeling, and he couldn’t help but enjoy it. 

Today, while he had skipped going to the gym in favor of looking for a job. He had found a few that he was deliberating over, and had spent the rest of his Saturday doing things that he tolerated. Things that brought him lazy comfort, things that he used to do with Michael, things that Nicky said made him more “domestic.”

Andrew didn’t care about that, but he couldn’t say he completely disliked the feeling of being able to think again. 

Just as Andrew was turning the to the next page, the lights flickered with a loud crash of lightning. Andrew stilled, looked out at the lashing rain, and then quietly murmured, “Fuck,” just as a flash of lightning brought darkness in its wake. 

Andrew sat in the chair, waiting to see if any emergency generators would kick on, but when nothing happened, he simply sighed and set down the book on his chair, and the gold-wire glasses on the table next to it.

He made his way into the kitchen, under the sink, to check if he had left any emergency supplies. He was annoyed to find that his past self had deemed it unnecessary to pack any emergency supplies and put them under the sink like he usually would. Just to be sure, he ran his hand over the bags to see if he had left anything, even a flashlight. When his search returned unfruitful, he sat up, banging his head on the bottom of the frame as he did. Cursing the darkness, he stood, intent on just going to sleep, only to hear a hesitant knock at his door. 

Grumbling, Andrew made his way over to the door through the darkness, glad at least that he had the apartment layout memorized. Thinking it was perhaps his tenant or another one of his pesky neighbors, looking for supplies to borrow, he kicked the door open, hoping to find amusement in hitting somebody in the face, only to find HGM standing safely out of the way, a blanket on his shoulders and a flashlight in his hands. 

He smiled softly at Andrew, before whispering, “Hi.” 

“What do you want?” asked Andrew, standing aside to let him in. HGM smiled again at him, a soft, small thing, and entered, shining the flashlight about. 

“The power's out,” HGM said softly. 

“No, really?” Andrew deadpanned as HGM made his way into the living room and dropped his blanket on the ground. “Is that why it’s dark all of a sudden?”

Neil snorted from the living room, before calling out, “I was wondering if the cats and I could come over until the power comes back, at least.”

“It’ll probably be back in a couple of minutes,” Andrew answered blandly, but still watched HGM with interest. 

“That’s not a no,” said HGM softly. Andrew sighed like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. 

“Shut up,” he told the obnoxious redhead. “If the cats shit in my apartment, I’m throwing them and you off of the fire escape.”

“Duly noted,” HGM said drily. “I’ll be back in a minute.” 

Andrew let the door swing open as he leaned against the doorframe. He was letting him get too close, yet at that moment, Andrew couldn’t find it in him to care.

As he waited, Ms. Agatha made her way out of her room, fixing Andrew with a glare. A battery-powered lantern hung from her clawed hand, making her look sickly pale. Andrew just stared back at her. 

“What a shame, the power’s out,” she croaked (Andrew wished she would do the other type of croaking.) 

“It seems it is,” Andrew said. She smiled her stupid, old-person judgy smile at him. Andrew didn’t bother returning it, flicking her one last cursory glance, before turning his gaze towards HGM’s door. 

“You and that young fellow seem to be hitting it off,” she said, determined to dig up some gossip. “The redhead. What’s his name again, Reginaldre?” 

Andrew had never heard of anybody named ‘Reginaldre’ in his entire life and refused to believe that was actually HGM's name. Still, he just shrugged and said, “He goes by Reggie.”

“Oh, Reggie, that’s nice,” said Agatha as she slowly made her way towards him. What was taking HGM Josten so long, anyway? Or maybe it was Reginaldre Josten. Andrew had never had any reason to be grateful to his egg-donor but at least she hadn’t named him ‘Reginaldre.’

“He’s such a nice boy… yes, too bad about his scars, don’t you think?” Agatha said. Or, probably said, because she had a coughing fit in the middle of it. Andrew still tensed up. That was where she was going with this, huh?” 

When Andrew didn’t answer, she pioneered on. “Do you know what happened to him, to get them?” she asked. “It must have been very painful.” 

“Oh, it was,” HGM said, emerging from his apartment with two cat carriers, a blanket on his shoulder and a shopping bag full of… something hanging from his bicep.

“Oh, Mr. Reginaldre!” gasped Agatha. “This young man and I were just talking about you. What did happen to your poor pretty face?”

HGM Reginaldre Josten looked at both of them for a moment, a look on his visage that conveyed the words, ‘ _what the fuck?’_ perfectly. Agatha, not seeming to be able to discern his facial expressions in the dark, simply waited. Andrew tensed, ready to tell the old hag to mind her business when HGM let out a sigh. 

“I was on a camping trip. A wild creature of sorts attacked me in the night and cut this side of my face, making me fall over onto some strangely-shaped hot coals and burn the other side of my face.” HGM said all of this with a bored tone and a completely straight face. For a moment, Andrew _almost_ believed it. Almost.

“Oh, my goodness! That sounds quite… daunting!” Agatha exclaimed.

“Yes, it was,” Josten said, nodding as he pushed past her into Andrews’ apartment. Andrew stepped in after him.

“Yes, well, I was just wondering-” Agatha began, but Andrew was faster, quickly slamming the door in her face. He looked at Josten, who was dropping his things on the ground and pulling the flashlight from his pocket. 

“I hope you don’t have to go out and get more things for a few hours,” Andrew deadpanned. “The witch might harvest your organs if you go out again.”

HGM snorted. “I’ll let you know, out of all of the people who have threatened to do that, I think she’d be the easiest to deter.” 

He said it again in that carefully bland tone, but there was something dark lurking behind his eyes. Andrew frowned, promising himself to remember that for later. Instead, he said, “So, some wild creature of sorts?” 

This prompted a laugh- a real laugh- out of Josten. It made something in Andrew’s stomach feel light and soft. He forced the reaction down, killing it. This was not smart. Keep him at arm's length. Don’t you _dare_ make the same mistakes you did with Michael. 

“Yeah, that was total bullshit,” HGM told Andrew, temporarily distracting him from his fickle heart. It felt like something big, a secret that needed to be paid back in turn. Andrew, however, didn’t speak. 

“I’ve gotten pretty good at making up stories over the years, on the spot.” That darkness was back in his eyes again. “Usually, more believable, but I was pretty sure she’d believe me. Or, at least act like it.”

These were truths, big ones. Andrew frowned, feeling like he should return the favor, even if there was no real reason for him too. A truth for a truth. Like his game with Michael.

He didn’t want to think about Michael right now, and he definitely didn’t want to think about the fact that it didn’t make him feel like he was dying when he thought of that name. _Michael. Michael. Michael._

HGM and Andrew padded into the living room before HGM handed Andrew his flashlight and set about setting up a place to sit on- a blanket thrown over the ground, the bag put on the side, the cats let out. Andrew sat down slowly onto the thing and watched as HGM pulled the second blanket around himself and then began to pull things out of the shopping bag. The first was a carton of ice cream, which he handed to Andrew wordlessly. Then, he pulled out several Yankee candles, none of which were Sweet Honeysuckle Meadow (or, Andrew supposed, Honey, Suck Me,) and put them around the edges of the blanket. Andrew raised his eyebrow at this. When HGM didn’t notice, as he was too busy setting out candles, Andrew said simply, “That’s a lot of candles. You must really like the company to invest this much money in them."

HGM smirked. “I’m don't, really.” 

“So, you just collect them for- what? A hobby?” Andrew refrained from cocking his head to the side and tried to not seem to interested as he watched HGM start to light them one by one with a red lighter he withdrew from his pocket. 

HGM shook his head. “No. It’s kind of weird, actually, but the women at my work keep giving them to me. I had a conversation with one where I said I really enjoyed the smell of apple cider and then, all of a sudden, they just kept giving me candles? Mostly Apple Cider scented, but there are a few others.” 

Andrew had to hold back a snort. Maybe HGM really _was_ as oblivious as he acted. He wondered how many women’s dreams he had crushed when he just awkwardly accepted their gift and waved them off. The thought of it made him smirk. 

“Where do you work?” asked Andrew, deciding to leave HGM in the dark for a while longer. He could figure it out for himself, and besides, it would be entertaining to see him turn down more girls without even realizing what they were trying to do. 

Not that he planned to spend more time with the man, no, not at _all._

“I’m an accountant,” HGM said. “I never thought I would end up working as an accountant.”

“What did you think you would end up as, then?” asked Andrew as HGM lit the last candle. They were mostly all Apple Cider, but there were a few others mixed in. The smell was nice, kind of like the home he had never really gotten. 

Something dark flashed across HGM’s eyes, and Andrew knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth when he spoke again. His mouth said, “I didn’t really know,” but his eyes said, " _Dead."_

Goddamn it. Why did HGM have to be so interesting? 

“So, you really trust yourself with all these candles?” asked Andrew, changing the subject so HGM wouldn’t have to. It wasn’t like he cared about HGM’s privacy, obviously. He didn’t care. 

“What do you mean?” HGM asked, lost for a moment.

“You’re the one who’s apartment almost caught fire, not me,” said Andrew. 

HGM frowned. “It was Sir’s fault, not mine,” he defended. Sir, who was sniffing around on Andrew’s couches, perked up when he heard his name, but still acted like he was ignoring them. 

“Speaking of Sir, why haven’t you gotten rid of the nuisance yet?” asked Andrew. “It’s not like he’s good for anything.”

HGM took to looking mock offended. “Yes he is!” he cried. “He is very good at being soft and fluffy and cuddling with me and King at night. Sometimes.” 

“Yes, and while he does that you waste all of your food and resources on him,” said Andrew. “It’s not like he really cares about you. If you died in your apartment, he would eat you for sustenance. The other one, too.” 

HGM considered that. “...Maybe,” he finally allowed. “But King wouldn’t. She’s too good of a girl to do that. Right, King?” he called into the apartment. 

As if summoned, King padded over to HGM, letting out a soft _mrow_ as she seated herself on his lap, stretching out languidly. HGM smiled softly at her and then slowly petted her side, fingers carding through the soft black fur. He looked so at peace for a moment that the shadows of his past seemed to leave him, making him look younger and more energized. Maybe cats were good for some things, Andrew decided. 

Sir, who was feeling left out, ambled over to the blanket. Andrew had his ice cream in his lap, so when the creature came up beside him and rubbed its face on Andrews’ black clothes, he scowled and stood. “I’m going to get a spoon,” he said, not to anyone in particular. This didn’t deter Sir, as he just sat on the blanket and blinked slowly up at Andrew. 

When Andrew had retrieved his spoon and came back, he found HGM, sitting with King still in his lap, with the game of Life set out in front of him. Raising one eyebrow, he sat, opening his ice cream, and began to eat it. It was Rocky Road, which Andrew decided was satisfactory. 

Sir came padding up, sniffing delicately at the chocolate ice cream. Andrew wondered how much chocolate it would take to kill a cat, before deciding against poisoning the creature and continuing to eat it. Sir curled up by his side, watching the scene with narrowed blue eyes. 

Andrew gestured to the game. “Where did you find this?”

HGM shrugged. “Just in that cabinet over there,” he said vaguely. “It is yours, right?”

“I think it belonged to the previous owners of the flat,” Andrew said. 

“Well?” asked HGM

“Well, what?” returned Andrew.

“Can we play it?” asked HGM, speaking like he was talking to a two-year-old. Andrew scowled at this. 

“Yes,” he finally decided, only because HGM was looking up at him with those all-too hopeful blue eyes. He couldn’t vouch for how many pieces the game still had, but he could at least try to play it. 

They set up the game and choose their colors. Andrew took red while HGM took blue. They both each took one tiny blue figure, which HGM scowled at. “Pink and blue… what about people who don’t fit in either gender binary?”

“I’m afraid the game of Life doesn’t quite cater to people who don’t fit the ‘norm,’” Andrew deadpanned, making quotations marks with his fingers when he said the word _norm_. 

HGM scowled. “That’s annoying,” he said finally. “You’d think they would at least try to be more inclusive of gender identity.” 

Andrew gave him a searching look, remembering. “You seem pretty fired up about this,” he said. “Why do you care so much?”

HGM shrugged. “I took a Gender Politics class in college,” he said simply.

Oh. Andrew thought about Michael, how he had always been quick to defend transgender rights and nonbinary rights. Nobody had really suspected anything, but it still wasn’t a big surprise when they found out that he was trans himself. He had always been a bit more private than the other boys in the locker room, but it wasn’t until the day that Andrew had walked in on him washing his binders in his sink that he had figured it out. Eventually, he came out to the whole team, and in his fifth year, he was outed by the media. Coach Wymack had been _livid._ Michael had said he didn’t really mind, because it would have gotten out eventually, but he ended up changing his number twice from all of the transphobic messages that were being sent to him. At the time of the incident, they had been saving up money and planning for Michaels’ top surgery. They had almost met their goal, too. 

Michael had been so excited. 

Andrew shook off the thoughts. HGM had been finishing setting up the rest of the board and was now watching Andrew patiently, waiting for him to make the first move. Andrew flicked the spinner and watched as it slowly came to a stop on top of the number four. He frowned, eyeing the options- college or career path. Deciding to go with college, he started pushing his character four tiles over. HGM went after him, picking college as well, and the two began to play the game with little commentating.

Andrew got to the end of the college path first, and then picked up two college career cards. They were ‘Lawyer’ and ‘Police Officer.’ Deciding to go with ‘Lawyer,’ even though that wasn’t much better than ‘police officer,’ he continued on his way. HGM went after him and picked ‘Athlete.’ 

Soon enough, HGM drew ahead. He made it to the marriage tile first, and frowned, before looking up at Andrew.

“Do I have to get married?” he asked. Andrew frowned. He didn’t actually care whether or not HGM got married, but he couldn’t help but wonder why he wouldn’t want to. 

“Why?” asked Andrew.

HGM shrugged. “Just not interested in it, really,” he answered honestly. Andrew shrugged. It was just a game so it didn't really matter, but he understood.

“Then I don’t care. I get more money at the end if I have more people in my family.” he said. HGM smiled.

“So, you’re doing it for the money?” he asked.

Andrew shrugged again. “Sure.” However, when he got to the ‘Marriage’ tile, he picked up another tiny blue figure and placed it in the car next to him. His eyes flicked up to read HGM’s expression, but HGM didn’t seem to notice. 

The game continued. After a few lawsuits against his neighbors, HGM winning a ‘beauty contest’ and winning first place in the fair, they finally made it to where you could start having kids. HGM deliberated, before choosing to go around. Andrew, however, deciding to go all in, rolled three, and immediately landed on a tile with a kid. HGM eyed him suspiciously. 

“Are you adopting, or?” he asked. Andrew, who hadn’t realized that he had noticed his choice of spouse, frowned. 

“Sure,” he said, picking up a small pink figure, as the game dictated. HGM smiled. 

“What will her name be?” he asked, catching Andrew off guard. 

Andrew studied him carefully, before saying, “...Rigby.” It was a name he pulled off the top of his head, but HGM nodded.

“That’s a good name,” he said, voice all-too-serious for the ridiculous choices his in-game character was making. Choices that Andrew would never really make, choices that had become impossible to him once the ‘incident’ had happened. Maybe they were impossible all along, and he had just deluded himself into thinking that he could have something that life would never give to him. 

Before Andrew could get out of the kid lane unscathed, he landed on a ‘twins’ square- two more girls. HGM smiled. 

“Twins, eh?” he asked. “That must be a handful.” 

Andrew closed his eyes, ignoring the tired humor in HGM’s voice. Twins. Like him and Aaron. Only, these twins would be happy. They had a rich father- _two_ rich fathers- and an older sister. They were safe. 

“What’re their names?” asked HGM again.

“Tessa. And Tamara.” Andrew said softly. He eyed the two pink figures before saying, before his brain could stop himself, “Tamara’s going to be trans, though, so should I pick out a blue figure for him?” 

HGM laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” he said softly. "What will his new name be?"

Andrew squinted his eyes closed, and said, in an almost whisper, "I don't know. It's his choice." 

And the game continued. In the end, Andrew won, but HGM didn’t seem to care. He seemed softer than usual, although it might have just been an effect from the flickering of the candles, making his edges fuzzier. They put the board game away, and Andrew finished off the last of his ice cream, before abandoning it on the ground next to him. Sir made his way over to it, as if hoping to lick it out, but Andrew jammed the lid on before the cat could poison itself with chocolate. Then, HGM and Andrew just talked. 

“My uncle got me these cats.” 

Andrew waited. The tone of the room seemed, suddenly, more serious, like they were about to discuss something that HGM wouldn’t tell just anyone. What it had to do with his cats, Andrew wasn’t sure. 

“I didn’t want them at first,” he continued, voice soft. “Sir was a bastard from the start and King was super skittish. My uncle got them from a shelter. But he got them for me because he- he wanted me to have something to keep me from running. Something to come home to.”

It shouldn’t have been as momentous of a secret as it was, but Andrew got a distinct feeling that it was something much more important than it sounded. 

There was a beat of silence between them, before Andrew said carefully, “This is the first time in a long time that I’ve spent time with someone truly sober.”

HGM eyed him. There was silence again, as the truths soaked into the carpet, under the light of the flickering candles. Andrew suddenly itched for the feeling of a lollipop stick in his hand, so he stood, walking away from the silence that wasn’t quite stifling yet not completely relaxed. He made his way into the kitchen, stubbing his two twice before he blindly reached around in the cupboard and took out a lollipop, unwrapping it and popping it into his mouth in one motion. He closed his eyes, the darkness almost overwhelming, letting himself think. He heard HGM muttering to the cats, and it reminded him of a memory from long ago, echoing in his mind. Michael, with his big blue eyes, staring into an aquarium tank. Andrew wasn’t sure why his particular moment conjured up that memory, but he let it echo in his mind for a moment longer, how Michael had turned to him, smiling big, and said excitedly, “Look at all those fish!”

The memory, wavy and quiet, slowly dissipated. Andrew didn’t try to hold onto it, but he didn't push it away either. It was an improvement, he decided. 

He went back to the living room. 

HGM was petting King as thunder cracked above. Andrew sat in front of him again. HGM smiled at him. It was a good smile- soft and shy, a little rusty like he didn’t use it a lot. Andrew decided he liked it. 

They talked a little more, whispering to each other in soft voices, imparting secrets that shouldn’t have been classified as secrets but were. He felt like a giggling schoolgirl, talking about crushes to her best friends, even though he had never had the chance to live like that. To be a child. 

Eventually, HGM lured him into making a pillow fort, and after they had constructed it, they laid inside of it. HGM put out the candles and they laid in the dark fort, staring at the ceiling. 

“I used to smoke,” Andrew said eventually. “Someone helped me stop, though. So now I just suck on these stupid lollipops.”

HGM sighed. “I- someone I knew used to smoke cigarettes. So, whenever I smell cigarette smoke I think of them. They wouldn’t be very happy with what I’ve done with my life, though.”

Andrew closed his eyes. Would Michael be happy about what he had done since the incident? No. He didn’t think so. 

So, he said vaguely, “At least we’re trying.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments highly appreciated (kudos as well!) I'm not as happy with this chapter as I could be, and there might be some mistakes here or that, but if I didn't post it I probably never would have and I don't want to do that to you, my lovely viewers. So, stay tuned! The next chapter is when things start happening a little faster, and I finally elaborate on the Michael situation (I think.)
> 
> (Reginaldre Josten. I got that name from a weird autocorrect situation. Is that an actual name?)
> 
> Here's my Tumblr, if you're interested: https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/


	6. Shatter My Hopes // Crush My Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You knew it still hurts underneath my scars,  
> From when they pulled me apart,  
> But what you did was just as dark.  
> Darling, this was just as hard  
> As when they pulled me apart.
> 
> My only one,  
> My kingdom come undone,  
> My broken drum,  
> You have beaten my heart.
> 
> Don't want no other shade of blue  
> But you.  
> No other sadness in the world would do."
> 
> -Hoax, by Taylor Swift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: Mild Panic Attack, General Spooky Crap, Vomiting, Some Gore  
> (ATTENTION: THERE ARE BIG SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER HERE SO THE REST OF THE TWS HAVE BEEN MOVED TO THE BOTTOM SECTION OF NOTES. READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.)
> 
> Did I listen to Hoax by Taylor Swift on loop while writing the last part of this chapter? Fuck yeah. Don’t judge me. You should, too. Here, to make it easier for you: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ryLGxpjwAhM

Andrew had given up on finding out what HGM Jostens’ real name is. Sure, there are ways he could've found out- like just fucking asking him. But, Andrew soon finds he doesn’t care enough to figure it out. If he needs to address him directly, he’ll just call out, “Josten,” and if that doesn’t work, he’ll throw something in his general direction and wait for him to figure it out. 

However, there is a new complication, one that he had warned himself about so many times yet somehow still ended up falling headfirst into. And that is the fact that he is completely and utterly infatuated with him. 

Andrew still refuses to admit this out loud, however and spends most of his time glaring at HGM whenever he dares to do something that makes Andrew want to pin him against a wall, such as when he laughs or when he pouts or when he talks or when he exists. 

So, yeah. That’s a problem. However, Andrew has fallen far enough that he finds he doesn’t care very much anymore. Instead, he finds himself easily getting lost in a pair of arctic eyes, listening intently as HGM goes on and on about his stupid co-workers, and Debora, the woman at the coffee shop who _will not leave him alone_ for whatever reason. 

It has become a bit of a habit for Andrew and HGM to meet at Andrew’s apartment during the evenings. It has to be the evenings because HGM wakes up at an incredibly early hour to go for his run, which Andrew thinks is horrible and ridiculous and tells him whenever he can. It is also because, nowadays, from Wednesdays to Fridays, he works the night shift at his local parking garage, which isn’t so bad, besides the strange things that happen every once in a while. It has become a popular topic of debate between HGM and him.

“I’m telling you, it is _definitely_ ghosts,” HGM said, waving a french-fry around in his free hand, before shoving it into his mouth. Andrew exercises his incredible restraint by _not_ childishly rolling his eyes. 

“Ghosts aren’t fucking real, Josten,” he said, snagging one of HGMs’ fries and dipping it in his Blizzard. HGM made a face at that.

“Well, then what do _you_ think it is?” asked HGM, almost petulant. 

“Teenagers,” Andrew said boredly, stealing yet another fry from HGMs’ meager stash. 

“Teenagers,” replied HGM, unimpressed. “I thought you said that you saw a chair get hurled across the parking garage, and when you looked back on it using the tapes or whatever, there was nothing there.” Andrew just looked at him, so HGM threw his hands up and said, “See? Poltergeists!” 

“Poltergeists aren’t fucking real, Josten,” Andrew said, once again falling back on his same line of defense. Now, HGM rolled his eyes, seemingly not caring at all that the action was childish. 

“Then what the fuck threw the chair across the paring garage?” he snapped in retaliation. They were going in circles, but secretly, Andrew reveled in it.

“Ghosts are not real.”

“What is your proof?”

“What is _your_ proof?”

The two glared at each other, a silent, stubborn challenge as they waited to see who would be the one to allow this ridiculous conversation to continue. If HGM was anybody else, Andrew would have abandoned the conversation long ago. Probably never even would have started it. But this was HGM Josten, someone who he (regrettably) liked spending time with. So, really, what choice did he have?

After a moment of silence, HGM sighed, sitting back in his chair. The two had been slowly moving closer to each other as they fought, so much so that Andrew could see the individual freckles on HGMs’ face, the shining challenge in his arctic eyes. The just barely there quirk of his lips, like an almost smile, challenging him. Andrew wanted to kiss it off of his face, trace the spattered constellations of his freckles with his tongue. 

He didn’t.

“This conversation is going nowhere except in circles,” HGM stated simply. “Plus, don’t you have work soon anyway?”

Andrew glanced at the clock and saw that his shift was starting quite soon. It was Friday night, so thankfully, he could sleep the whole day tomorrow and then get his sleep schedule back on track until Wednesday. Sighing, he stood, grabbing a few more of HGMs’ fries and lightly flicking him on his forehead. “Try not to light anything on fire while I’m gone,” he teased in his normal, bland tone. Ever since the candle incident (since dubbed the _“Honey, Suck Me”_ incident), he and HGM had been trading teasing jokes back and forth. Andrew still thought the cats were pests, but they were okay sometimes, like when Sir came to sit on Andrews’ lap when Andrew got stressed about anything, or when King grew enough of a spine to come over to him while he was reading and purr while she rubbed her face all over him. Not like he would ever admit this to HGM, of course. But he suspected HGM knew something from that sly look he got sometimes when he walked in on Andrew with one of the pests in his lap.

Stupid sly look. Andrew wanted to ~~kiss~~ smack it off of his stupid face. 

Andrew got his keys and flashlight from his apartment, before hopping into the car and driving off. Wonderful. Another night of fucked up shit to deal with. 

He arrived at the parking garage at ten o'clock sharp. His leg was bouncing listlessly on the ground as he pulled to a halt and got out, making his way over to the video room to sign in. Jack, the day security guard, was already there, looking pissed as usual. He glared at Andrew as he entered. 

“Jack,” Andrew greeted blandly. Jack scowled.

“Minyard,” he grumbled back, already logging himself out on the computer. He moved out of the way, watching Andrew with cold eyes, before leaving. Andrew didn’t really care about what Jack thought of him, but he couldn't help wonder if Jack was just an asshole all the time or only to him in particular. 

Andrew signed in, locked the door behind him, and sat in the chair, leaning back. He pulled one of the lollies he had brought with him from his pocket and popped it in his mouth, not caring about the taste, just looking for the familiar feeling of the smooth candy on his tongue, his teeth clicking against the ring that jutted out from it. He focused on the screens, letting everything else fall away. There was something hypnotizing about this job, being in this tiny stuffy room, his eyes surveying everything.

It didn’t take too long for something weird to happen. Just about an hour. Andrew noticed the movement out of the corner of his eye, everything else still and silent, but there, a small clatter as a box fell over. Somebody saying something he couldn’t make out.

Andrew sighed, grabbing his flashlight and rubbing at his knives through his armbands, feeling their familiar weight, letting it anchor him. He wasn’t scared. He was rarely scared. 

He made his way out of the video room, locking it behind him, and started towards where he had seen the noise- the third floor down. He had to use the stairs because the elevators were usually turned off during the night. It was a bit tiring, but he made it down there relatively quickly, not even having to turn his flashlight on in the pitch blackness, having already memorized the layout of the place after working here for the past few weeks.

In the gloom, he could make out a shape- a few shapes- across the parking lot. He heard a giggle and another one whispering, _“This is so epic.”_ Deciding that it was time for him to be a bastard, he crept forward once again, careful not to make too much noise. He kept the flashlight up, unlit, ready for the moment that he would scare their asses off. A man had to have a _little_ fun, right?

When he was only a few feet away from the group- there were three, he decided, two girls and a guy- and could easily hear their whispering, he said, in his normal tone of voice, “Boo,” and switched the light on.

The girl _screamed,_ and one of the guys too. The other swore, stumbling backward. Andrew regarded them with a steely gaze.

“Making bad choices tonight, are we?” he asked. The teens were all dressed in black, with hair dyed charcoal and nails colored black as well. _Emos_ , he thought with a barely suppressed snort. Made sense.

“W-where did you come from?” stuttered the guy who screamed, obviously trying to look tough and save face in front of the others. Andrew gave him an unimpressed look. 

“The stairs,” he said flatly. The two guys seemed to have mostly recovered, but the girl was still holding tight onto the guy who had sworn’s arm. He had longer hair than the other guy. 

“W-what are you gonna do now?” asked the girl, fluttering her eyes up at him in a fearful way. Like she was trying to earn his pity. Andrews’ lip almost curled. 

“I’m going to escort you outside,” he told them. They waited, obviously thinking that there was more to this message.

When he didn’t say anything else, the short-haired guy said, “Th-that’s all? You’re not gonna call our parents or the police or whatever?”

Andrew continued to gaze at them boredly. Taking his silence as confirmation for this, the teens exchanged looks.

“So you’re just gonna let us go?” the girl squeaked.

“Yes,” Andrew said, his tone _almost_ annoyed. 

“But- I mean- shouldn’t you-”

“Do you _want_ me to call them?” Andrew asked. The kids immediately took to shaking their heads. “Then shut up about it and follow me.”

The three teens followed complacently after him, down the sets of stairs to ground level, where he opened the door and let them out. One of them must have unlocked it because he knows that he locked it on his way in. Or, Jack didn’t care enough to close it. Either way, it didn't matter.

The three teens stumbled out into the night, looking almost giddy with their new-found freedom.

“If I find you back in here, I will call the cops. And your parents,” Andrew reminded them. They all nodded jerkily. 

He turned to go back into the building, before one of them called back to him, “Wait! Um, thanks for not telling on us.” 

Andrew just shrugged. “Don’t make any more stupid mistakes,” he told them, before making his way into the building and closing the door behind him, double-checking that it was locked before he returns to his office. 

That is advice that he wouldn’t mind giving to his younger self. Though, it’s not like he would have listened. 

It’s 3 in the morning when the second incident occurs. Andrew is staring tiredly at the screen, when he caught a flicker of movement on the screen, without any sound to accompany it. He straightened, eyes focused on where the movement was. He checked for it again… and there. He was sure he saw something. Grabbing his flashlight and rubbing at his armbands, he headed out once again.

It was on the very bottom level this time, the one below ground level. The basement. He doesn’t think it’s the kids again, because he’s pretty sure they aren’t _that_ stupid, but who knew. Maybe Andrew underestimated them. 

It took a little longer to get down to the bottom level, but he still made it there in record time. This time, he didn’t bother creeping up on whatever the fuck it is, just shines his light around. It might just be a rat or some shit. He didn’t see anything on his first shine around but on his second-

His breath caught. It _couldn’t_ be. This wasn’t possible. He couldn’t have missed him on the first shine around-

Michael turned slowly around from where he is facing the wall, eyes soft and baby blue, like the ocean on a calm day. Those eyes locked on Andrew's face and grew wide. He whispered, in that oh-so-familiar voice, “ _Andrew?”_ Then again. “ _Andrew?”_

Andrew was frozen to the spot. He swallowed slowly, feeling like he might start choking on the words that wanted to fly from his throat. He stared up into the face of his pain, his vice, his virtue.

“Michael,” he whispered, eyes wide. He couldn’t believe it. It was… how could _he_ be here? He had seen him. Had been there. Feeling nothing. Pretending he was feeling nothing. 

Feeling everything. 

“Michael,” he said again. And then he was moving.

His hands were shaking so badly as he reached towards Michael, his entire body tense and coiled tight. He knew that he couldn’t believe this, couldn’t have this. 

But he wanted to. Oh, how he _wanted._

Those beautiful ocean blue eyes flashed towards him, and it was like Michael reached forward too. Andrew couldn’t look at Michael’s face, could only stare at their hands as they neared each other. Closer, closer, until they were only inches away from each other. Michael’s skin was white as ebony next to his own. Andrew frowned- he hadn’t noticed-

He looked back up at Michael’s face and jerked backward, arms almost flailing as fell onto his ass. A thin line of red dribbled down Michael’s chin from his lips. His eyes, so wide and pretty and ocean blue, looked lighter. Almost like-

 _“Why did you leave me?”_ he whispered. _“Why didn’t you come to save me? Andrew, Andrew…”_

The line of red thickened, streaming down his face, from his nose now, too. Andrew could only stare up at him from his place on the floor, hearing the sound of the thick droplets splatter against the concrete. 

_“Andrew,”_ he said again, and Andrew’s eyes were filled with flashing lights. Memories that he didn’t even have. Everything was so hazy. But they wouldn’t make it in time, they wouldn’t make it, Andrew would never make it…

“No,” whimpered Andrew, his whole body locking up as a shudder ran down his spine. He might have been crying. “I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry. I should have-”

Andrew jerked awake as someone slammed on the door to the video room, gasping. His heart was beating out of his chest. The dream swirled in his mind and he leaped forward to look at the tapes, like he could find Michael standing there, still waiting. 

_Michael._ Andrew sat back with a huff, hugging his arms to himself. It had been a long time since he had experienced a dream like that. Not since the incident. 

Not since the _accident._ Andre forced himself to think of it like that, and ground his teeth together. Fuck. 

The slamming on the door returned again, louder and more insistent, this time accompanied by a tirade of Jack’s colorful language. Andrew rubbed his eyes. He must have fallen asleep- though, that was unusual, especially for him. Jack slammed at the door again and Andrew growled in annoyance, forcing himself to stand, even though his legs still felt like jelly. The dream had affected him more than it should have. It was just a dream, anyway. 

Andrew jerked open the door, and snapped, “Forget your key, fucker?”

Jack, who had been trying to pry a cement block off of the floor (probably to do very stupid things with, such as hurl at the door and end up tearing a muscle in the process,) dropped the thing on the floor only a few inches from his feet. The noise was deafening. It took everything in Andrew not to flinch.

He glared at Jack with as much vitriol as he could muster, before pushing him out of the way, intent on getting home and hiding in his apartment for a little while. He wasn’t very tired, anyway. 

“Hey, um- are you okay?” came Jack’s voice, surprisingly hesitant, from behind him. 

Andrew halted and turned, only to give him another scalding glance. Jack seemed to take this as a good reason to continue. 

“It’s just- your hands are shaking,” he said. Andrew looked down. His hands were, indeed, shaking. He balled them into fists and blinked hard, before continuing on his way back to his car.

That evening, after a long day of hiding inside and almost breaking his tentative sobriety twice (he ended up throwing the stupid bottle out of the window), HGM appeared at his apartment, smiling merrily. He let himself in, being familiar enough to do so, and tossed his apartment key on the table next to Andrews’ own. Andrew, who was glaring at the TV like it had tripped him so he would fall into a puddle of mud. 

HGM slowed, noting Andrews’ sour mood, before saying, “Hey. Bad night?”

Andrew huffed and deigned to answer. 

HGM still sat down a few feet away from Andrew, eyes skirting the apartment, before fixing once again on Andrew. Andrew tried to ignore him, but eventually, he had to turn and give him a glare. HGMs’ blue eyes, only a shade lighter than Michael’s, didn’t mock him like he had thought they would. Instead, they seemed to ground him. Andrew frowned a little deeper, but it was a thinking frown.

Finally, he said, “Stupid teenagers.” He wasn’t technically lying. That had annoyed him. “And Jack,” he added, deciding that it was a good enough explanation.

When he had started feeling the need explaining why he did things to HGM, he didn’t know. It was kind of terrifying. But exhilarating, too. Trusting someone like this. 

He never should have grown to trust HGM, but now he did. He just hoped that HGM wouldn’t break him as Michael had. 

HGM merely nodded in an understanding way, before he let the room be filled by the white noise the TV provided. The silence stretched out between them, but it was a comfortable silence. Andrew felt himself relaxing back into the couch ever so slightly, his body angling towards where HGM’s was on the opposite side of the couch. He let his eyes flicker closed, his breathing slow. This was nice. It felt like how he used to. Before the accident.

He didn’t flinch like before when he thought that. 

The silence lasted for a long while more, before an unfamiliar ringtone shattered the silence. Annoyed, Andrew fished the phone out of his pocket. He wondered who could possibly be calling him right now, besides maybe his job. The number on the screen was unfamiliar.

Andrew stared at the phone for a moment, wondering if he should just ignore it. It was an old enough phone that he couldn’t tell where the caller was from, so he finally decided to answer it.

He didn’t say anything, just put the thing up to his ear. It was silent on the other end before a hesitant, _“Hello?”_ hissed through the line. Andrew stiffened. He knew that voice.

“Katelyn,” he said in a bored voice, unsure of why he didn’t just immediately hang up. “What do you want?”

There was another scared silence on the other end before her voice came through again. _“I… shouldn’t be calling you right now,”_ she confessed quietly.

“No, you shouldn’t,” Andrew agreed, deciding that this was the only time in his life that he would ever agree with the pesky cheerleader. “Why are you calling me?”

More static silence. Then, _“I think the others have given up on you,”_ her voice was quiet.

Andrew let his eyes fall closed. “So?” he asked, but it didn’t sound as indifferent as he wanted it to. To cover up his slip, he snapped, “I’d think that you would be happy. Now you can fuck with my brother all you want and I’m not around to stop you.”

Usually, this would scare people off. Katelyn, however, seemingly having learned to live with the Minyards’ knack for snappy comments, just said, _“Aaron and I got married. I”m expecting our first child.”_

That gave Andrew a momentary pause. One again. He simply asked, “So?” It wasn’t unexpected. Aaron had made it clear that after college when their contract was over, he would be taking Katelyn as his bride. Andrew didn’t care. He didn’t care.

A soft sigh came from the other side of the line. _“Andrew, what happened to Michael wasn’t your fault.”_

Ah. Right for the heart. A sneer spread across Andrews’ lips as he felt his eyes narrow. Defensive. 

“You don’t get to say anything,” he snapped. “It’s not like you ever cared.” _Not like Aaron ever cared._

That wasn’t supposed to hurt like it did.

 _“Of course I cared,”_ Katelyn said softly like she was thinking back on happy memories turned tragic. _“Something like that happening- it affects a lot of people. The other foxes were just as devastated when he-”_

“Don’t.” It came out quiet and choked. Not angry, like it should’ve. “Don’t say it.” His eyes closed because he knew what was coming. Nobody ever really listened to him anyway. It didn’t matter what he felt. It never had and never would. 

Katelyn surprised him, though. _“I’m sorry, Andrew. That shouldn’t have happened,”_ she whispered. _“I know how hard it is to lose someone you love.”_

Love. Love. Love. Maybe it was because last night's dream was still on his mind, or he could still see those beautiful blue eyes in his minds’ eyes, but he let out a snarl. 

“Shut up.” he hissed. “You don’t get to _talk_ about it like you understand it. Nobody understood it, not even me. It wasn’t- we didn’t-” Andrew scrunched his eyes closed. “He _loved_ me and I couldn’t even save him.”

Katelyn didn’t speak. Finally, she said, _“I know that it’s not okay. I know that you aren’t okay, and-”_ He hesitated. _“That’s okay, Andrew. It’s okay not to be okay. It’s okay to hurt. Just-”_ she broke off, followed by the sound of her talking in the background to someone, before she turned back to the phone to speak, murmuring in barely audible whispers.

 _“Michael would have wanted you to be happy,”_ she said. _“I want you to be happy, too.”_

Andrew closed his eyes again, feeling just… weary. “Why would you care?” he asked, voice emotionless. “I only ever got in your way. Threatened you. What possessed you to make this phone call?”

Katelyn sighed. _“Because you cared,”_ she said softly. _“You cared about Aaron. Even- even if-”_ she swallowed nervously before continuing like she was walking on a tightrope and was afraid to fall. Maybe she was. 

_“Even if he never will understand, and maybe I won’t either, I’m still glad. Out of everyone in his life, you were the one who stood by him. The one who saved him. I bet you think I can’t condone your actions, for what you did to Tilda but- well, he told me what she did to him. And, honestly? I probably would have done the same, if I was in that position._

_“There have been people in my life that have done things to me that I can never forgive,”_ she said softly. _“And I bet there have been people like that in your life, too. You can choose not to believe me, but, really, I am grateful. You saved Aaron, even if it will take him some time to admit it. He might never. But I just think you should know that I believe you should get another chance. And yeah, losing someone sucks so bad and is so fucking hard, but the best way to get better if with the help of others. So- even if the others have given up on you, I haven’t. And-”_

She quieted. Andrew sat there, feeling something he didn’t think he would ever feel towards the annoying cheerleader. 

_“And, thank you. For saving Aaron. For taking care of him the only way you knew how. People suck, and honestly, this is really hard for me to admit, but I didn’t understand that until I learned I was pregnant and realized I didn’t want my child to grow up like I did. So, just know that I’m rooting for you. Bee still has your number. Renee, too. Give them a call sometime, or something. Just talk about Michael. Get it all out. Let yourself be happy.”_

Silence. Then, _“That’s what he would have wanted, I think.”_

Then she hung up, leaving Andrew, sitting there, mulling over this. He dropped the phone but left his hand up by his ear. 

Then, he did something he never would have done under any other circumstances than these. He stood, made his way to the counter, grabbed a napkin for lack of a better choice, and a pen from the designated ‘junk’ drawer, and scribbled Katelyn’s number on it. He then pinned it up onto the corkboard by the door.

He didn’t know why. He didn’t know what it would accomplish. But he did it. Then, he dropped the pen on the ground and went back to the couch.

Josten was still here, quiet, watching him from the corner of his vision. He didn’t say anything out loud, but his eyes asked millions of questions. 

Andrew met his ice-fire gaze and said, “Are you going to ask?” His voice was resigned.

HGM cocked his head to the side. “Will you answer?” he asked softly.

Andrew nodded. HGM pursed his lips.

“Who was that? What were they asking you about?” he asked, eyes wide and blue and fiery and arctic.

Andrew could have replied with, _That’s more than one question,_ but today it seemed he didn’t care. 

“My brothers’... wife,” Andrew answered. They were married now. She was going to have his baby. Strange. “She… wanted me to reconnect with. With them. My brother. And cousin. Maybe some other people I went to college with.”

“Oh,” said HGM. “Why?”

“She said… she wants me to be happy. Stop isolating myself. Talk to my therapist again. Maybe one of my other friends.” He closed his eyes and nearly whispered the last part. “About Michael.”

HGM just peered at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn’t want to. He didn’t. But, maybe he needed to. The cheerleader- _Katelyn-_ was right. That was something he didn’t think he would ever have to say, back in his college days. 

But maybe she wasn’t so bad, after all. 

HGM was still waiting for him to talk. He hesitated, steeling himself.

“Michael was… he was…” 

How could he even explain it to him? Michael, the only one who had ever truly understood him, the only one who had ever even tried. The one person who was always at his side, ready to defend him even if Andrew didn’t want him to. 

He was a knife, twisted into Andrew’s heart, one that he could never pull out. A drug that was so good while it lasted but so bad when it was gone. A fight that Andrew could never hope to win.

Michael. Michael. Michael. Words paled in comparison to him. Andrew would never be able to string together enough to truly explain what he was to him. Words like, “boyfriend” and “partner” seemed insignificant and small, because they could never truly explain all that Andrew had been to him. All that he was.

He was Andrew’s only reason. The only _‘yes’_ life had ever given him. The only thing he had ever dared to truly believe in. Every time they touched, it felt holy. Michael gave him a taste of religion, made him understand why someone wanted it so badly.

He was the only one that could pass through all the traps laid carefully in Andrew’s walls and come to touch his skin without a single bruise. The only one that could walk through the scarred, mapless land of Andrew’s psyche with only a smile on his face and a mouth full of truth. He had mapped out Andrew’s body like it was his own, survived the storms and the earthquakes, picked up the shattered pieces of Andrew that nobody should ever want, and had cherished them. 

He broke Andrew’s world apart like an ocean crashing down upon him, breaking everything, tearing up memories like trees, washing away wounds like they were cities. And when Andrew had come up gasping for air, lost and confused, he had taken his hand and given him a new world. Something to live for. Someone to take care of. 

He was a hurricane, the only thing that could match Andrew’s temper, just as much as he was a cool pool for Andrew to dip his toes in. Someone he could hide in when he got burned.

And then, he was gone, taking all of those things with him, leaving Andrew dry and barren and so, so alone. 

How could he ever explain him, when even that didn’t even start to explain what Michael was to him?

“He was… mine,” Andrew settled on because it was true and simple. “I never had thought- I would get to have someone like- like I got to have him. But I did. And then- I didn’t.” 

He didn’t want to say much more than that, but Andrew realized that, when he started, he couldn’t stop. It poured out of him like a waterfall, a trickle at first, and then a stream, and then a river until it was pounding, pound against the rocks, so powerful it should’ve broken them.

They didn’t. Josten did not break easily. He only listened. 

“We met in college. It was my third year, his first. I played with the Palmetto Foxes- Kevin Day joined us that year, and we had a contract of sorts. I was high off of court-mandated medication and I got it in my head that he might be a threat. I approached him to make sure he wasn’t and he ended up being more interesting than I had originally thought.

“I never planned on getting close to him, but- my fifth year, when I got off my medication, he was still there. And he still wanted me. So, we made an arrangement. It wasn’t supposed to get as deep as it did. I was never supposed to care. I couldn’t afford to. But I did.”

_A mistake._

“That year, after I left, I went pro. We still kept in close contact- we lived six hours away from each other, so every so often we would each drive three hours and meet in the middle at a shitty little motel in the middle of nowhere to catch up. It was nice. I thought-” Andrew cut himself off, swallowing roughly.

“I had never had a reason to worry, so that night, I got to the hotel, turned on the TV and waited. He was a little late, but I assumed he just got caught in traffic. It had been a long week and I- I fell asleep.” He was whispering now, Josten leaning towards him to hear better. The TV was off. He couldn’t remember when Josten had turned it off. 

“When I woke up, I had a dozen missed calls and texts. Three from him. It- there was an accident. He was on his way, and he got hit by a truck or something. The details were never really sorted out. 

“His car was thrown off of the road. He wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. He didn’t- he didn’t die on impact.”

Andrew hunched in on himself. 

“They estimated the time of accident and time of death and shit. He called me three times after they said the accident would have happened. I was asleep- I didn’t-”

Andrew’s vision was blurring. He blinked his eyes, pausing to try and get a hold on himself.

“If I had been awake, I might have been able to save him. He called me three times before he called the ambulance. They didn’t get there in time. I could’ve. He was only forty-five minutes away. I could have saved him, but I didn’t. He trusted me, and I let him die.”

The room was quiet, and it was deafening. Andrew closed his eyes and shut his mouth. If he said anymore, he knew he would break down.

Josten adjusted himself on the couch next to him, and whispered, “Can I touch you?”

Andrew could only nod, even though he didn’t know, not anymore. Josten scooted forwards, perhaps sensing the yes didn’t go very far, and simply placed a hand on his shoulder.

“My mom and I-” he started. “When I was younger, we used to travel a lot. Not for luxury. Because- because- we were running.” It sounded like this was just as hard for him to admit, as it had been for Andrew to tell him about Michael. 

“My father- he wasn’t a good person,” he admitted. “He was who we were running from. We had a lot of close calls, but once- when I was seventeen- he caught us. We got away, barely, but- well, it was too late. He hurt her. Badly.

“We ended up on the Californian coast. She stopped the car at an abandoned stretch of beach and then made me repeat all of the lessons she had ever taught me to survive. Twice. Then- she died. From internal bleeding. I didn’t realize until it was too late.

“I couldn’t take her body from the car, because she was so bloody that she stuck to the seat. So, I got my bag and- I burned the whole car. After, I fished her bones out from the driver’s seat, put them in a backpack, and buried it somewhere on the shore. That was when I stopped running.”

The two sat in silence, just waiting. Andrew waited for his eyes to clear, and looked over at where Josten was, his ice-fire eyes understanding. Not soft, not pitying. Understanding. 

He wouldn’t realize it until later, but that was the moment Andrew truly felt okay for the first time since Michael had died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER TWs (cont:) Discussion of past major character death, discussions of past car accident, a LOT of angst here.  
> 
> 
> Neil, during the phone call: What tf is going on??  
> ~~~  
> Andrew, literally about to pour out his fucking heart and soul: I played with the Palmetto Foxes- Kevin Day joined us that year and-  
> Neil, internally: KEVIN DAY?? EXY STAR KEVIN DAY?? EXY? YOU PLAYED EXY?? WITH KEVIN DAY???
> 
> Wow, okay. That was way longer than it was supposed to be. I really liked writing this chapter though (bc angst, first off, also, finding all those pretty words to have Andrew describe Michael with. I don’t know why. I just really, really loved it. I had to cut off, like, two more paragraphs of me just having Andrew talk about Michael.  
> Also, this kind of angst is just so addictive to me, because it hurts in a deliciously painful way. Like, does that make sense? Just like how writing good horror makes me feel sometimes.
> 
> Also, we STAN a good Katelyn/Andrew relationship. I had to strain it a little, but Katelyn doesn't have much of a personality anyway, so just let me LIVE.
> 
> I've been thinking about renaming the chapter titles. We'll see what happens. 
> 
> Please tell me how you thought about this chapter in the comments! They really mean a lot to me. Kudos are highly appreciated, too. I live off of praise. Even just tell me a line you particularly enjoyed or a spelling/grammatical error I made somewhere lmao. 
> 
> ~Some links to my writing and stuff if you're interested in that~  
> Tumblr (for updates on this I guess): https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Here this is, folks! What do you think? Kudos are appreciated, comments even more so (I promise you, they give me LIFE) so just, like. Say something. 
> 
> My Tumblr is here if you care about that kind of stuff: https://dangerous-advantage.tumblr.com/


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